


The Sword and the Mind

by clare_dragonfly



Category: Criminal Minds, Warehouse 13
Genre: Case Fic, Community: casestory, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clare_dragonfly/pseuds/clare_dragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having her death faked, Emily Prentiss expected to travel around Europe, hiding from Doyle and having contact only with JJ--not to be surprised in her hotel room and whisked off to South Dakota to hide in a warehouse and help hunt down quasi-magical artifacts. Now that Doyle is dead, she can return to her own team, but her conscience stops her. She can't leave until they solve the mystery of who is using the sword of Gilles de Rais to murder children. Bringing the BAU and Warehouse 13 together to catch a killer isn't going to be easy, but it's the only way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to hutcherie for providing the art and ariestess for the beta!
> 
> Warnings for sexual abuse and death of children (not explicit).

**Prologue**

Emily returned to her hotel room, surprised to find her hands were shaking.

This was it. The ersatz funeral was done. Her paperwork had gone through. She wasn’t an FBI agent anymore—at least, not until Ian Doyle was caught and, hopefully, killed. Right now she was just Candice Libby, random civilian, an American in Paris.

Or so she thought, until she heard the voice behind her. “Agent Emily Prentiss.” It was a calm, confident voice, brooking no argument. But it was a woman’s voice, not Doyle’s, and one she didn’t recognize.

She spun, reaching automatically for her weapon. But it wasn’t there. Where had she left it? As her thoughts ran through this confusion, she was also studying the stranger. A broad-shouldered black woman, not very tall but with quite an imposing air, despite her old-fashioned beehive hairdo and tweed skirt suit. She wore horn-rimmed glasses and a perfectly disapproving expression, like a maiden aunt. But her disapproval, if disapproval it was, didn’t seem to extend to Emily; she simply looked straight at the other woman, with no thought that there would be any argument.

“How do you know that name?” Emily gasped out.

“I’m with the United States Government,” said the woman. It might or might not have been an answer. “Agent Prentiss, you are needed at Warehouse 13.”

“Warehouse 13? What the hell is that?” From the way she said it, it was obvious she didn’t just mean a government warehouse somewhere that held files or something like that. Warehouse 13 was actually its name, and it was significant.

“I’m afraid I can’t explain. You simply wouldn’t believe me.”

“You’re not exactly inspiring my confidence.”

“That doesn’t matter.” A very tall, well-muscled black man (like, Emily thought hysterically, Morgan squared), appeared out of the shadows beside her. “Everything will be made clear when you arrive at the Warehouse. You’ve seen strange things in your career.”

“I have.”

“Well, I guarantee, the Warehouse is even stranger.” The woman in the horn-rimmed glasses almost smiled. “However, Agent Prentiss, if you won’t consent to come with us willingly, I am prepared to use force.”

Emily remembered where her gun was. In the bedside table. She hadn’t brought it to meet JJ only because she knew her friend was the better shot. It was just too bad JJ wasn’t here. She glanced over, gauging her distance, and said, “I’d like to see you try.”

She dove. There was a crackle of electricity, and everything went black.

  


**Chapter 1**

Emily leaned back in her chair and groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. She gave her desk a light kick to set her chair spinning. When she opened her eyes, she was facing a different direction entirely. It didn’t literally help her change her perspective, but it made her feel better.

“Stress?” Claudia asked sympathetically. She was one of Emily’s new coworkers, and probably the closest to her of all of them. She’d been the most sympathetic when Agent Prentiss had shown up, confused and disoriented, and told to start a new job.

Emily groaned in response, then said, “I just don’t understand how you can know which weird things are artifacts and which are just things being weird. I can profile a disorganized psychopath any day—and most of these people are disorganized—but I can’t tell whether that psychopath is killing with a regular weapon, or an artifact, or if it’s the artifact that’s making him kill.”

Claudia sucked a tooth, then shrugged expressively. “Sucks, I know. I’m glad it’s not me anymore.” She winked. “If it helps, you don’t have to figure out the difference between the last two. If it’s an artifact, we’ll bag it and tag it.”

“I know. But it matters to me whether it’s the person or the artifact.”

“Is there anything in particular you’re having trouble with?” Claudia spun Emily’s chair back around so she was facing her computer again, and leaned over her right shoulder.

Emily nodded. “A few things. Do you have time to coach me again?”

“I always have time to coach the newest member of Team Warehouse! Come on, lay it on me, Agent Emily.”

Emily grinned despite herself and clicked to one of her search windows. “There’s this series of fires in Atlanta. I could tell you all about the arsonist—he’s pretty much textbook.”

“He?”

“Most arsonists are. If it was a woman, she wouldn’t be textbook. But no one has seen him—that’s the only weird thing. I know that the arsonist belongs to the community, and he would have good reason to want to avoid being recognized, but there are several witnesses and no one remembers seeing anybody.”

“You don’t think they could be holding their tongue for some other reason?”

“That’s always a possibility, but one of them—” Emily brought up the picture “—is the owner of the business that was torched. And I checked, he didn’t have insurance. I can’t think of any good reason for him to want to hide the arsonist’s identity.”

“Maybe it’s someone he wants to protect.”

“I thought of that, but how can I tell for sure? You see my dilemma?”

“I do. You’ve already searched for known artifacts?”

“Fire-starting, invisibility, anything that can hide someone’s identity… yeah. The only thing I found is on the Warehouse’s shelves, and yes, I checked that it’s actually there.”

“Well, another thing you can do is look for historical similarities.” Claudia opened up a search engine on Emily’s browser. “If there are historical events with similar fires or someone similarly going without being caught, that could be the source of an artifact. And then, of course, there’s asking Artie.”

“I was hoping to avoid that option,” Emily admitted.

“Yeah, I got you. But he knows a lot of historical stuff and potential artifact creations. His mind is like a card catalog.” Claudia made a riffling motion next to her head.

“A card catalog, not a computer?”

“He is way too old and way too much of a Luddite to have a computer for a brain.”

“I heard that.” It was Artie. Emily’s new boss. She jumped at his voice and the sound of his footsteps coming in the room, but Claudia was, as usual, completely unfazed.

“You love it,” the younger woman said.

“Card catalogs are very efficient. Now.” Artie set down his coffee and leaned over Emily’s left shoulder. She was beginning to feel very crowded. “What do you have that you want my input on?”

Emily sighed and brought up the screen with the arson reports again. “These fires are nothing interesting, but the arsonist has consistently gotten away without being seen, even though there should have been several witnesses.”

Artie barely glanced at the screen. “Put a flag on it,” he said brusquely. “Could be an artifact, probably not. If they don’t catch him soon, one of our teams will fly out.”

“Can I at least send the Atlanta police a note with the profile?” Emily asked hopefully.

“No, you cannot.” Artie was already walking away with his coffee. “No one is to know you’re here. Mrs. Frederic was very clear about that.”

“It doesn’t have to come from me,” Emily called after him. “Claudia can make it totally anonymous.”

“No!” he shouted before disappearing into his office.

Claudia shrugged. “You know Artie. No means no.”

“Yeah,” Emily said, even though she really didn’t feel like she knew Artie. Not yet. It had only been a few months, and she hadn’t even been allowed to go on missions with the rest of the team—her very existence was supposed to be secret, so she stayed cooped up in the Warehouse all the time. The closest she came to field work was driving back and forth from Leena’s to the Warehouse every day (after she and Myka had had an epic fight over groceries, which Emily wasn’t allowed to shop for, the others had all agreed that it would be best to let her do something that was almost active). “All right. Flagging it.” She clicked the button that Claudia had, as she had proudly explained, set up so they could follow ongoing investigations without being noticed. She would monitor this flag for unusual, artifact-like activity, like she had been with several other cases.

“Oh well. Were there any other cases you were unsure about?”

“Yeah… this one isn’t quite a crime, but it’s certainly strange.”

“We investigate anything strange, even if it’s not illegal,” Claudia said as Emily brought up the reports. “What is it?”

“Several people in New York City have been reporting that their cell phone calls are being rerouted somehow,” Emily explained. “They’ll pick up the call and be listening to someone else’s conversation. And they can join in the conversation, too. But it doesn’t show up as a conference call, and not all of the phones are even set up for conference calls.”

“Huh.” Claudia leaned her hip against the desk. “That is weird, but it might just be technology-weird, not artifact-weird. But let’s go through that checklist. Any known artifacts that mess with people’s conversations? It might not be strictly phone-related, I mean, telephones haven’t been around for all that long, let alone cell phones.”

“Yeah, I thought of that, but there was nothing that I could find.”

“So, historical connections?”

“It reminds me of party lines. My grandfather’s place in France was on one. But—”

“Party lines? Like when people say what they’re supposed to say just because that’s what the boss says?” Claudia snorted.

Emily shook her head. “You’ve never heard of party lines? Oh… right, you’re like, eighteen.” She grinned, deliberately underestimating Claudia’s age.

“Twenty-two, thank you very much. No, what are you talking about?”

“It’s the way phone lines used to work, especially in rural areas. I don’t think there are any around anymore. But it was like several houses were on the same phone line. You could only make one call out at a time, and more importantly, if one person was on a call, somebody else in a different house could pick up the phone and hear the other person’s conversation, because it was all one line.”

Claudia nodded slowly. “That sounds like the same thing. Is there anything else that you can think of about party lines?”

Emily shook her head. “They’re used as an emergency-alert system within the loop—we never had to use it when I was there, but my grandfather said he’d been alerted of fires before by it. I don’t know if they were ever used for anything else. It’s just a phone system.”

“They were used on railways,” said a voice. Emily and Claudia both turned, startled. Artie had emerged from his office, and while he sounded as grumpy as usual, at least his bushy eyebrows weren’t drawn down quite as forebodingly. “You.” He pointed at Claudia. “Information on the Kew Gardens train crash of 1950. Whatever you can find. Especially whatever there is about signal problems. You.” He pointed at Emily as Claudia scurried off to her own computer. “Print off those files on the rerouted cell phone calls. Claudia and Steve will go to New York and investigate this.” He turned back to his office, seemed to hesitate for a moment, then turned around again. He fixed Emily with an intense gaze. She braced herself. Then he said, abruptly, “Good work, Agent Prentiss,” and turned away again.

Emily turned back to her computer with a smile.

\--

Emily was so focused on her research that she didn’t even hear Mrs. Frederic come in. Not that it took very much focus to not hear Mrs. Frederic. The voice behind her didn’t make her jump, though; she had gotten too used to Artie sneaking up on her to be startled anymore.

“Agent Prentiss. You are free to go.”

She turned slowly, both reluctant to leave her screen and unable to quite believe her ears. The dour woman in the tweed suit stood with her hands clasped behind her back, as entirely imperturbable as ever. “What do you mean?” Emily asked cautiously.

“What I said,” said Mrs. Frederic, enunciating as precisely and laconically as she always did. “Your time in the witness protection program is over. You may return to the FBI.”

“Hold on a minute,” said Steve, who had been in a quiet conference with Myka and Pete. He held his hands out in a quelling gesture. “How come she gets to leave? I thought you couldn’t leave the Warehouse unless you were carried out.” He glanced back at Myka and Pete. “Right? That’s what Pete said, and Myka said it wasn’t a joke.”

“Ordinarily, Agent Jinks, that would be the case,” said Mrs. Frederic. “You, like Myka and Pete, were recruited for your specific abilities. Agent Prentiss, on the other hand, was only here for support and secrecy while a man who wanted to kill her was still at large. He is no longer at large; she may leave.”

“Wow,” said Claudia, spinning around in her chair. “Go Emily. You really going to leave us?”

Emily shook her head—not negating, just confused. She had thought she’d be elated when this day came, as she knew, or at least hoped, it would. This meant that Ian Doyle was in jail—or better yet, dead. (God, she hoped he was dead. Even if it did mean she wasn’t able to be the one to kill him.) And all she had wanted for the past months she’d been here was to return to her team, to be able to tell them she was really alive. But the news had struck her a little hollowly. And she knew why.

She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Frederic. This is wonderful. But there’s actually a case I just found… I’m pretty sure there’s an artifact involved, and I think you’ll want my help cracking this one. It is my area of expertise, after all.”

“Serial killers?” asked Pete, raising one eyebrow.

She nodded grimly. “In Texas, there are children being murdered. Five deaths so far. My team—” she had never stopped referring to the BAU team as her team, though Myka and Claudia had tried to urge her to think of the Warehouse as her new home “—has probably already heard about it, but I don’t think it’s a straightforward need-based killing like we’re used to.” She sat bolt upright in her chair as a thought struck her. “Wait a minute. We need profilers on this and we need artifact hunters. If I’m going back to my team… we should work together. Neither one of us can do this alone.”

“Absolutely not,” said Artie. This time Emily did jump. She had been so focused on her idea she hadn’t seen him come out of his office; in fact, she hadn’t even known he was there.

“Now, Arthur,” said Mrs. Frederic, completely to Emily’s surprise. “Let’s hear her out. Agent Prentiss, please explain your reasoning.”

“Okay.” Emily took a deep breath. “Five children have been murdered over the past two months. I was looking at the police reports and it sounded really familiar. What happens is the children are hung with ropes from a ceiling, molested, and then murdered by having their throats cut.” She glanced around the room as she explained it with as few details as possible. These people weren’t used to many deaths, let alone grisly, awful ones like she was describing, but only Steve and Claudia seemed very perturbed. “They’re also molested after death. According to the coroners’ reports, the wounds were inflicted with a long blade, like a very long knife or a short sword. Does this sound familiar to anyone else?”

She waited, but no one had a response. Not even Artie.

“Right, okay. Has anyone heard of the French serial killer Gilles de Rais?”

“The name sounds a little bit familiar,” said Myka. “He was involved with the Church?”

“Right. But he was prosecuted and indicted for the murders of children. Lots of children.” Reid would know what she was talking about. Hotch had probably read about him, too. Telling this to the Warehouse 13 team made her feel like she was describing the most grotesque of murders to poor, sweet Garcia. “Anyway, the weapon he was known for using was a braquemard—a short sword. In fact, the entire MO sounds exactly like the MO of Gilles de Rais. But, well, he’s an obscure medieval serial killer. Most people today haven’t heard of him.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug, feeling like a complete nerd—which was even more extreme surrounded by the great nerdiness of the Warehouse. “It’s extremely unlikely that anyone would choose to copycat him, and even more unlikely that anyone would willingly carry around a short sword, especially without getting caught. I think that some pedophile has gotten a hold of Gilles de Rais’ sword and it’s influencing him to the only MO it knows.”

Emily finally ran out of breath and words and looked around helplessly at the Warehouse team. She was so torn, wanting to return to the BAU, wanting to find this killer…

“We have to find him,” whispered Myka, her voice thick with tears.

“But we don’t catch killers,” said Jinks. His eyes were wide and staring. “We only hunt artifacts.”

“Precisely,” said Mrs. Frederic. “The killer needs to be brought to justice. That is the job of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Congratulations, Agent Prentiss. You are now an official liaison between the Warehouse and the FBI.”

\--

They’d caught him. They’d killed him. The man named Ian Doyle no longer existed on this earth.

So why didn’t he feel any better?

Doctor, not Agent, Spencer Reid sat in his apartment with a phone in his hands. Soon they would be facing Congressional oversight. Soon he would have to decide whether or not he would officially rejoin his team. And he just wasn’t sure.

It wasn’t the same without Emily. Since she’d died, he’d had one thing to focus on: bringing the evil bastard who’d killed her to justice. And now that had been done. It was over. There was nothing else to do.

So now there was a hole in him. A hole where first Emily, and then revenge, had resided. A hole that maybe Gideon, or maybe his father, or maybe even Tobias Hankel had made. And that was why he was sitting there, on his bed, trying half-heartedly to talk himself out of calling his dealer.

And that was why, when the phone in his hand rang, it shocked him so much that he hit “answer,” brought it to his ear, and said “Hello?” before he even saw who it was. The truth was he honestly expected it to be someone offering him Dilaudid.

“Reid!” It was JJ, who they’d just gotten back, who’d always been his shoulder to cry on. She sounded… excited. Happy. What did she have to be happy about? His heart beat faster with conflicting emotions. “Glad you’re awake,” she continued. “I need you—everybody—in the conference room now.”

“JJ? What’s this about?” Still so confused. It’s like he was half-asleep. Maybe he was. But if this was a case, and the only reason they call in the middle of the night and say “conference room, now” is a case, then why was she so happy?

“I can’t explain over the phone. Sorry. You wouldn’t believe me, anyway. Just get over here, okay? I’ll see you soon.” She hung up.

And he went right back to staring at the phone. This made no sense. There was nothing…

But he had to go. It was his job. 

\--

Everyone was there. JJ, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, even Garcia. JJ and Hotch were the only ones who didn’t look confused. Hotch looked like Hotch—arms crossed, brow furrowed, mouth immovable. JJ looked excited, eyes bright, lips parted. There was nothing up on the plasma. No one had their tablets out. Something was going on, and Hotch… and JJ… knew the secret?

“Okay,” said JJ, breathless. “Everyone’s here. Good. I’ll be right back.” She dashed out the door.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Reid asked, looking at Garcia, because if he looked at Hotch he was suddenly sure he would get a lie.

She shook her head, eyes wide. “If it’s not a case…”

“I’m guessing that’s not what’s going on here,” said Morgan.

“Look,” said Hotch shortly, nodding towards the door. They all turned to look.

Emily.

For a moment Reid thought, _This is it. I’m gone. It’s over. Just like Mom. Take me to the hospital, it’s too late…_

But Garcia was crying out, and Rossi and Morgan were cursing, and JJ was just standing there laughing with tears shining in her eyes. And Emily held out her arms, and Garcia rushed into them, and they hugged like they’d only been parted for a week.

Reid took a step back, away from them.

He couldn’t process this. He couldn’t think. His mind, the thing he always relied on, the thing he was most afraid of losing, it was slipping away from him…

And then Emily was standing right in front of him. She held out her hand, and he let her take his. She squeezed. She was real, and really there, and really alive. “How?” he managed to ask, through his dry throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said, which wasn’t what he had asked, but what he wanted to hear. “I did it for you. For all of you. To protect you.” She let go of his hand and stepped away.

“We did it for you,” JJ corrected. She and Hotch stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Emily. They’d known. They’d planned it.

“Welcome home, Emily,” said Rossi, his voice surprisingly warm and calm. “Where have you been?”

“Actually, that’s the really important part,” Prentiss said. “Why don’t we all sit down?”

They took their places at the conference table, one by one. Reid’s legs shook. He felt numb.

“First of all, I have to say thank you. To all of you. For catching Doyle, so I could come back, and I will come back. This team is my home. I couldn’t leave it forever.” Reid let Emily’s words wash over him. There was a point she was coming to, he knew it. He would be angry later.

“I was supposed to be in witness protection in France, but that didn’t end the way it was intended to. I was contacted by a secret government agency—so secret not even Hotch knew about it, and I’m willing to bet not even Strauss did. They’re called Warehouse 13, and they hunt artifacts.”

“Artifacts?” Morgan asked, like he was supposed to. They were all being good little audience members, listening to Emily’s story.

“It’s hard to explain, and I know you won’t believe it if I do just explain. So I’ll show you.” She held up a quill. “This is Edgar Allan Poe’s pen. Don’t ask me why this particular object is an artifact and not every single item Poe worked with. Artie doesn’t know, so I doubt anybody else does either.”

She took out a piece of paper and wrote a single word on it, in large, bold block letters so they could all see. “RATS.” She placed it in the middle of the table. They all stared at it.

Suddenly two huge, grey rats appeared in the middle of the table. They ran in opposite directions, off the edge of the table, and vanished. Garcia screamed. Morgan shouted and jumped up. Reid didn’t move.

“Very funny,” he said. He tapped the middle of the table, where the paper had been. It had vanished when the rats appeared. “What is it, origami?”

“It’s the pen, Reid.” Emily held it out towards him. “Try it yourself if you don’t believe me. Just be careful with it.”

He backed away, pushing his chair back, but refusing to stand, refusing to let his intimidation show. “Trust you? I don’t think so.”

There was an awkward silence. Then Hotch said, “Prentiss, this isn’t helping. You were with this Warehouse. What do they do? What branch of the government are they with?”

Emily cleared her throat and looked down, leaving the pen on the table. “They’re officially affiliated with the Secret Service, though they take agents from all the services—one of the others, Steve Jinks, was with the ATF before he was recruited. What they do is to hunt down these artifacts, which cause strange things to happen all over the world, neutralize them, and store them out of harm’s way. What they don’t do is to punish the people using them. That’s where we come in.” She took a deep breath and lifted her head again. “I’m sure you’ve all heard about the child murders happening in Texas.”

They all nodded. “Five deaths,” said Rossi. “I’m more surprised they haven’t called us in yet.”

“They probably don’t believe the deaths are related. That’s most likely one of the effects of the artifact. I believe this killer is using the braquemard that belonged to Gilles de Rais.”

The reaction was immediate. Reid’s breath hissed inward. JJ gasped. Morgan and Rossi cursed (again).

“Who is—what is—never mind, I don’t want to know, do I?” Garcia squeaked.

“Probably not, baby girl,” said Morgan. He looked at Prentiss. “Does Garcia need to be here?”

Prentiss shook her head. “You can go while we talk about this,” she said to Garcia. “But I’m definitely going to need your help. We want to bring you out to South Dakota, where the Warehouse is. Between you and Claudia, the tech there, I’m confident you can find any information that exists.” She gave a tense smile. “You’ll like Claudia.”

Garcia nodded, looking slightly dazed, and stood up. “I’ll be… in my office… until you need me.”

When Garcia had gone, Prentiss turned back to the others, that tiny smile still on her face. “I take it I don’t have to explain to the rest of you who Gilles de Rais was.”

“French serial killer,” said Rossi.

“Murdered potentially dozens of children,” said Morgan.

“And you think someone is using his… sword?” JJ asked.

“It could be another object belonging to him, but the sword seems most likely, from the coroners’ reports I’ve gotten—why would someone even be using a sword, if it wasn’t affecting their actions? But it’s clear the killer is doing just that.”

“So why us?” Reid asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “You said this was the job of those Warehouse agents. They don’t need us to get rid of this sword.”

“But they need us to catch the killer,” Prentiss said, looking straight into his eyes. Hard enough to make him shrink back, but he straightened his spine and glared back at her. She didn’t deserve to make him wince. Not now.

“It may turn out, when we find him, that he wasn’t a killer at all before he came upon the sword,” said Prentiss, looking away from Reid. “Maybe the sword took him over, gave him the mind of Gilles de Rais somehow. That sort of thing has happened before. But when the Warehouse team found Edgar Allan Poe’s pen, a high school kid was using it to get back at the people who’d bullied and rejected him. The stories didn’t take over his mind. They just gave him a way to do what he was afraid to do. This killer, whoever he is, is using the sword to kill children and get away with it. He might even be using it to get them to trust him. The Warehouse team can look for signs of the artifact, but they need profilers to find the killer.”

There was a long pause. Then Hotch said, “We’re going to Texas.”


	2. Chapter 2

Joseph Bakker woke up and he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

He got up, showered, got dressed, and put the sword in his backpack. He hadn’t been sure, when he’d first seen it, whether to call it a knife or a sword—it was short for a sword, but two-edged. As soon as he’d picked it up, though, he’d known it was a sword, and it had been waiting for him.

It made people trust him. He didn’t know what they saw when they looked at him, but as long as the sword was somewhere nearby, he could use it, and people smiled. _Children_ smiled. They’d never done that before.

He suspected he was high on power. But he had the power, and no one could take it away from him.

He took the bus to a different part of town. Whatever magic the sword had that made people trust him, they might still get suspicious if they saw him twice in the same place where children disappeared. He didn’t think he could be caught, but if people started to connect him, he might have to move, and he really liked the house he had now.

It had such a nice basement.

He’d gotten children there before; back in Pennsylvania, when he’d been Martin Hixon, he’d convinced a few to come to his basement. He remembered their names like it was yesterday. Travis Ong. Peter Whyte. And precious little Erika Clyburn. Erika had been the hardest; her big brother was on the Little League team Hixon had coached (and he was just a little too big), but it wasn’t easy to get to her. He’d finally convinced her that her brother was coming, too, and they were just going to play board games.

The only problem with Erika had been that she’d told her parents. And the news had spread. Luckily, he’d gotten out of there ahead of the police, changed his name and his appearance, and no one connected him to the child molester (oh, how he hated that term—they loved it, he wasn’t doing anything they weren’t happy about) who’d fled Pennsylvania. The only problem with the change was that he couldn’t work with kids anymore. There were too many background checks for that. But he’d managed to find a house near a school, and bided his time, working tech jobs so he could stand at the second-floor window during every recess and every time the school opened or closed for the day. He’d learned its schedule by heart over the two years he’d lived here.

He’d been patient. Because he’d known that he couldn’t find another little friend so soon. If somebody else told, there would be fewer and fewer places for him to run to. And he liked this house so very much.

Then the sword had come to him, part of an estate sale that he’d gone to for the great-grandchildren. Everyone else had passed it by; it was dirty and hung up on a badly scratched weapons rack, neither pretty nor functional to most people. But it had called to him. He’d gotten it for a steal.

And then he had gotten one of those great-grandchildren—her name was Tasha—to go home with him.

She’d been so pretty, her lithe little body and smooth, brown skin. And she’d cried prettily, too. But he’d known, when he was tired and spent, that he couldn’t just let her go. Erika Clyburn had promised not to tell anyone, and she’d broken her promise. He couldn’t trust Tasha to keep her promise either.

So he’d hated to have to do it, but he took the sword to her pretty little throat. The blood had gushed out all over, and he’d had to burn the clothes he was wearing.

But that was why his basement was so wonderful. It was very easy to clean.

He’d taken good care of little Tasha after that. Now her family had her. And they took good care of her, too. Now everyone was happy.

He knew they were, because of the sword. The sword helped him. It supported him.

It would help him get what he needed.

\--

It was a damn good thing there was an FBI building in the town they were going to. Otherwise Prentiss didn’t know how she would have gotten the Warehouse team and the FBI team to all fit in one room.

She couldn’t help grinning when she’d gotten them all into the small conference room they were using. Oh, it wasn’t really all of them; Garcia and Rossi had gone straight to the Warehouse, and Claudia and Artie had remained there, with Leena at the B&B, since she wasn’t really part of the team anyway. (Emily would have paid good money to see Rossi and Artie facing off, but the case came first, of course.) So in one room she had Myka Bering, Pete Lattimer, Steve Jinks, Aaron Hotchner, JJ Jareau, Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid. Not at all a bad spread.

She introduced them all around. Myka and Morgan both made a point of shaking everyone’s hands and repeating everyone’s names. Even Reid shook Myka’s hand, though he didn’t look happy about it. Well, he hadn’t looked happy this entire time, since Emily had come back from the “dead.” She was hoping the case would distract him, but she would definitely have to talk to him at some point. Not that she didn’t deserve his anger, but she wanted her friend back.

Morgan put the flirt on with Myka, which she had expected, but still made her smother a giggle. “And there’s a fourth Warehouse agent who isn’t quite conventional,” she said. “Myka, would you do the honors?”

“With pleasure,” said Myka, retrieving the black sphere from her bag. Not that anyone else could have taken the job away from her. She activated the sphere, and a hologram shivered to life.

“Why, hello,” said H. G. Wells, looking around at the assembled with a familiar smirk. “Who are all these people? Have we recruited a number of new agents?”

“Helena, these are the members of the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI,” Myka said. “They’re going to help us catch the killer.”

“Ah, of course,” she said. “A pleasure to meet all of you.”

Emily wasn’t looking at H. G. and Myka; she was looking at Morgan. He’d grinned and started to speak when H. G. had appeared, but Prentiss knew the moment Helena and Myka shared a glance. Morgan’s eyes widened and his face fell. Prentiss had to turn away and press her lips together to smother laughter. Morgan caught her eye and glared. Yeah, they were going to have to talk about this later.

“So what do we have so far?” asked Hotch. “Any leads?”

Pete shook his head. Their cross-armed poses were mirrors of one another. “Unfortunately, not so far. And even more unfortunately… another girl disappeared last night.”

Prentiss’s breath hissed in between her teeth. “Shit. He’s speeding up his timeline, isn’t he?”

Reid, still silent, stalked over to a whiteboard and started his pens squeaking. When Prentiss turned, she saw he was building a timeline. She nodded slowly as he worked. “Yeah, this is three days faster than last time.”

“What’s worse is that he’s only been hanging onto them for twenty-four hours or less,” said Hotch. “If we want to save this new victim, we have to move fast. And we may not be able to save her. Do you have the file on her?”

Pete nodded and handed it over. JJ started looking through the files they had, and sticking photos up on the cork board. When she finished, she stepped back and shook her head. “Victimology isn’t very consistent.”

“What do you mean?” asked Steve. “They’re all kids.” He sounded angry. Emily didn’t blame him.

“Both sexes,” said Morgan. “And race is all over the map. Usually pedophiles are more consistent—we call them preferential offenders. It’s just like adult serial killers. They have a type, a gender and racial type, and they stick to that. I don’t think this guy is sticking to anything. That must be part of why the local cops aren’t putting these murders together.”

“Yes, he is,” said JJ. “Some of them look younger, but all of these victims are six to eight years old.”

“That’s good,” said Prentiss. “That tells us it isn’t just the sword, like I suspected. Gilles de Rais killed children of all ages, but mostly older. He did kill both boys and girls, though, so that may be the sword’s influence.”

“How do we know this man is… a pedophile?” Myka asked. She looked sick and she was standing close to Helena, as though her holographic lover could offer any physical comfort. “Why can’t he just be killing them?”

“The coroners’ reports,” said Prentiss. “Unfortunately, there are clear signs of sexual assault on all the bodies. And he appears to use a condom, so there isn’t any DNA.”

“Even if we didn’t know about the sexual assault, we would suspect it,” said Morgan gently. “People just don’t kill children without a sexual motive, even if they are scattered across the board like this.”

“What else do the coroners’ reports tell us?” asked Hotch.

“They all have rope burns,” Prentiss responded, calling up what she remembered—which was most of the reports, since she’d read them multiple times. “All killed by having their throats slashed, with something that is very long and not intended for throat-slashing. That’s why I think it’s his braquemard. The children have also eaten a large, heavy meal before death, so he must entertain them somehow. That could be how he’s luring them, maybe.”

“There also seem to be signs of remorse,” JJ said, holding up one of the papers she was reading. “Yeah, they all seem to be dumped at the side of the road, but they’re carefully dressed and wrapped in sheets, like it’s a real burial.”

“Remorse?” asked Steve, shocked. “You mean he’s killing these kids and then he feels bad about it?”

“It’s not uncommon,” said Hotch. “He may feel that he has no choice, or be in a frenzied emotional state when he kills them, but calmer when he gets rid of the bodies. It’s actually helpful to know—when we do catch him, we may be able to get a confession out of him.”

“That’s not consistent with the MO of Gilles de Rais,” Reid said rapidly. Prentiss turned to look at him, but he was just staring down at his shoes, a marker held loosely in his hands. “He was said by his accomplices to have taken great pleasure in the deaths of the children, molesting them after death and even sitting on them as they died to watch their convulsions.”

“Good point,” said Prentiss, putting a smile into her voice, even though Reid still wasn’t looking at her. “Maybe this guy doesn’t want to kill the kids. It might be the sword’s influence.”

“I’ve never seen an artifact that forced people to kill,” said H. G. Wells. “They’re usually more of a means to an end.”

“But we have seen artifacts that warped people’s personalities,” said Myka. “It makes some sense. Horrible as it is. Remember what happened with Lucrezia Borgia’s comb?”

“God, yes,” said Pete. “Or that compact… Anyway. So our first priority is going to be getting the sword away from him and neutralizing it, right?”

“Right,” said Prentiss. “But we need to profile him to find him, and once the sword is neutralized, we have to find out how much actually is the sword’s influence.”

“Where do we start?” asked Hotch. “If we don’t know how much of what he’s doing is caused by the sword…”

“I’d say we start where we always do,” said Morgan. “Victimology. Find out how he’s meeting them and how he’s taking them.”

“Right.” Hotch scanned the room with his eyes, then made a gesture toward Prentiss. “You’re the liaison here. How do you recommend we form the teams?”

Emily took a deep breath. She knew she’d have to be in charge at some point. She hated it. It was too much like politics. But she wasn’t really in charge, was she? She was just… guiding. “We should have one Warehouse agent and one BAU agent on each team. The Warehouse agents check for signs of artifact use, and the BAU looks at behavioral markers. Uh, so, one of us should go with Myka, one of us with Pete, and one of us with H. G. I can do that if none of you want to deal with the orb.”

Hotch shook his head. “Each team should have one woman on it as well. I’ll take H. G., if that’s all right with the rest of you.”

“Fine with me,” said Helena, with a flirtatious smile at Hotch. Myka handed over the orb and walked over to Morgan with a shrug.

“Uh, what about me? Should I go with one of the teams?” Steve asked. “I’m wondering if there’s a way for me to be in three places at once…”

“No, you stay here,” said Myka. “If we have any suspicions about any of the families, you’ll be both an unfamiliar face and a lie detector to get the truth out of them.”

Emily nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Fine with me,” said Steve. “I’d rather put off talking to families about their dead kids as long as possible.”

“And I’ll get in touch with the press,” said JJ. “The victimology is wide and varied enough that he’s probably not getting to know all of these kids before taking them, so I want to put the city on alert for any strange man talking to kids.” She sighed. “Of course, parents are already paranoid, but until we catch this guy, they’re going to have to be even more so.”

“Make sure the press knows that these five deaths and kidnapping are related,” said Hotch. “They didn’t seem to be getting that.”

“Of course,” said JJ. “I know what I’m doing. In fact, I’m going to go do it right now.” She smiled at Emily and waved to everyone else before walking swiftly out of the room.

“Guess it’s you and me, then,” said Pete, grinning at Emily. She managed to smile back.

“Reid, you’ll stay here with Jinks,” said Hotch. “Work up a geographical profile. Look at all the angles. You should have plenty of information to work with.”

Reid nodded shortly and went to the table to open a file. He still refused to look at Emily. She wanted to talk to him, but couldn’t think of a thing to say. Anyway, it wouldn’t help. The only thing she could think of that would help was solving a case together. So that was what they were going to do.

“Right,” she said, turning to Pete. “Let’s go talk to Sylvia Scranton’s family.”

\--

Claudia Donovan was walking across the field from the B&B to the Warehouse when she saw an SUV pull up. That was an unusual sight, and what was more unusual, it was purple. Definitely not Artie’s, then. But she knew who it was, of course. It was Emily’s friends from the BAU.

She was going to miss Emily when she was gone. But at least they were going to catch a bad guy before she left. And Claudia was definitely looking forward to meeting this Penelope Garcia.

Ahead of her, the car stopped and two people got out: a woman carrying a full messenger bag and wearing at least four different colors, and a man in a suit. They did not look like they went together at all. But neither did Claudia and Artie.

The two were approaching the Warehouse and looking around. Of course, it didn’t look like they were expecting it to look. But they weren’t looking behind them, so they didn’t see her, even though she was passing their lovely purple car now. Of course, it wasn’t as cool as Jinks’s car, but it was still pretty nice.

She shouldn’t have allowed herself to be distracted. Because there was suddenly a football coming out of the sky. _Dammit, Pete_ , she allowed herself to think as she launched herself at the two BAU agents.

“Get down!” she cried, grabbing them both by the arms. They both stared at her, startled, but they obeyed. The football hit the Warehouse wall with a resounding thump, then landed in the dirt at their feet.

Claudia took a deep breath, let go of their arms, and stood up. “Sorry,” she said. “That wasn’t exactly dangerous, but it would have hurt.”

“Where did it come from?” asked the man, looking up and around.

“I’m not actually sure,” said Claudia, then stuck out her hand. “Claudia Donovan, goddess of tech. Welcome to Warehouse 13. I’m hoping you’re the BAU dudes.”

The woman smiled at her and shook her hand. “Penelope Garcia. And ‘goddess of tech’ is usually my line.”

Claudia laughed. “Yeah, I, uh, sort of stole that from Emily. It seemed like a good line, and Emily did keep telling me I reminded her of you.” She turned to the man. “And you would be her lowly assistant.”

He shook her hand as well. “David Rossi. I’m here to make sure you folks aren’t taking advantage of our genius here. So is this really the Warehouse we’re supposed to be working at?”

“Sure is. Just give me a minute.” Claudia fished out her keys and unlocked the door, then ushered them inside, standing slightly back to observe their reactions.

Just as she’d hoped, their jaws dropped at the sight of the artery. It didn’t match the rusty, run-down outside of the Warehouse at all—nothing on the inside did. That was part of its charm.

“What is this?” asked Penelope, reaching out toward the wall.

“Oh, don’t touch the walls.” Claudia squeezed past them. “There’s explosives in them. Just follow me down here.”

They obviously listened to her, because nothing blew up as she led them down the artery and into the Warehouse office. Once inside, Penelope made a small noise of astonishment. Claudia turned around and grinned at her, spreading her arms wide as she walked backwards into the room. “Isn’t it beautiful? Usually it’s all mine, but I guess today it’s all ours.”

“I beg to differ on that,” said Artie from his office. Of course, he hadn’t bothered to come outside to greet the FBI folks, and now he wasn’t even greeting his guests politely. Claudia rolled her eyes and turned to him as he came out into the main room. Before she could introduce him, he fixed Rossi and then Penelope with a disapproving glare. “You must be the ones from the FBI.” Even if Claudia hadn’t already known how he felt about the FBI, she would have been able to tell from the contempt that dripped from those three letters. She made a mental note to explain, sometime when he was out of the room, that he was ex-NSA. Though they would probably think he was just anti-government.

“SSA David Rossi,” said Rossi in a voice that even Claudia could tell was only deceptively mild. He held out a hand to Artie. “And this is Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst and the reason we’re here.”

Artie looked at the hand. Then he looked at Rossi. Claudia held her breath during the staring contest. Then, amazingly, Artie reached out and shook Rossi’s hand.

It only lasted a few seconds, of course, before Artie turned and stalked back toward his office. “Claudia, make sure they don’t _touch_ anything important,” he called over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him.

“Sorry about Artie,” said Claudia. “Arthur Nielsen, my boss. He’s not so great with the technology. Or with the new people. You should have seen him when Emily first showed up.”

“I can understand that,” Penelope said, with a sideways glance and a grin at Rossi. “I hope I’m allowed to touch some important things, though. I won’t be much good if I can’t!”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Unless you break something. Then: worry.” Claudia threw herself down in a chair and pushed the other out with her foot for Penelope. “But I have much more faith in you than Artie does anyway. Now, Rossi, I’m not sure what you’re supposed to do here.” She looked up at him standing behind them.

He shrugged. “I’m just here so Garcia isn’t alone. And possibly to run interference, I think.” He tilted his head meaningfully at Artie’s office. “Make sure she’s allowed to do the work she has to do.”

Claudia nodded. “Works for me. Now I’d love to give you guys the grand tour, because the Warehouse really is amazing, but it’s sort of classified, and anyway, those of us who work here keep breaking stuff, so I don’t think you guys have much of a chance.”

“That’s okay,” said Penelope, placing her messenger bag—covered in cool-looking patches and buttons—on an empty spot on the desk. “All I really need is a computer.”

“And we should be getting to work anyway,” said Rossi. “These criminals don’t catch themselves.”

“Absolutely,” said Claudia. “Let me show you how the system works.”

By the end of the tour, Penelope was clearly impressed, and Claudia was impressed in turn by the intelligent questions she’d been asking—not to mention a little bit turned on. Emily’s comparisons between the two of them had clearly been spot-on. “And you built all this?” Garcia asked.

“Well… not exactly. I built some of it. Most of it I just improved on.” She had to be honest.

“Some improvement,” came Artie’s voice, shouting his office.

Claudia leaned her head back over the chair and shouted back, “You’d be nowhere without me!”

Penelope grinned at Claudia. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two. Why, are you having trouble believing that such a computer prodigy is _moi_? Because it’s all true. I am a prodigy in every way.”

Penelope laughed. “Step aside, sister. I was eighteen when the FBI hired me.”

“Oh, but that’s because you got caught, right?” Claudia spun around to face her, smirking. “Yeah, that’s right, Emily told me all about that.”

“Oh yeah? Well, in that case…” Penelope bent toward the computer, typing away swiftly. “I am just going to have to share one of her secrets in revenge. Here we go.” She turned the monitor, now displaying a photo of a girl in heavy goth makeup and gloriously teased-to-heaven black hair, to Claudia.

Claudia stared at it for a moment, then let out a whoop of laughter. “That’s Emily? Our Emily Prentiss?”

“The very same,” said Penelope, grinning. “She swears she has no memory of this, but the proof is right here.”

“Penelope,” Rossi said, a gentle warning.

“Right. Get to work.”

Claudia looked at the picture for another few seconds, then turned back to her own computer, shaking her head and grinning. She wished she’d seen that picture a few months earlier—maybe she would have been able to convince Emily to do a goth night with her (she looked so hot in that makeup). H. G. would have been into it, too. Ah, well. It was time for work now, anyway.

“So what exactly are we supposed to be searching for?” Penelope asked, glancing between Claudia and Rossi.

“Right.” Claudia leaned over to the middle monitor and brought up the Gilles de Rais file. “We’re looking for a braquemard belonging to Gilles de Rais. This is all the information we have on it. There’s no picture or other basic information because we didn’t even know it was an artifact until Emily noticed the pattern. We’re looking for whatever else we can find about this specific sword, and any weird crimes or other events that can be tied to it. I know it’s sort of vague.”

“It’s fine. My team gives me crazy stuff to work with all the time. It’s just nice for once to not be delving into people’s pasts.”

Claudia heard the sound of a chair being moved and looked back to see Rossi sitting down and pulling a book out of his briefcase. “Sounds like you ladies have a handle on this. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Claudia nodded and turned back to Penelope. “Want to add a little competition to this? Make it a race?”

Penelope laughed. “Oh, you are on.”

“Okay, one, two, three, type!”

\--

Reid watched the rest of the team leave in pairs, trying his best not to glare at Prentiss’ back. She’d barely even looked at him. He sat down at the table with the open file in front of him, ready to start his work, then remembered that there was another agent in the room. Well, no need to take his anger out on the poor guy. He looked up and plastered a fake smile on. “Steve Jinks, right? Emily mentioned that you used to be with ATF.”

“That’s right,” Jinks said, smiling back, though the smile seemed to have a little pity in it. “And you’re the famous Dr. Spencer Reid.” He sat down across from Reid.

Reid couldn’t manage to keep his eyes on the other man’s, though that might have been attraction talking. “I don’t think I’m famous.”

“Well, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

His head came right back up at that. “From Prentiss?”

“Yeah. She really missed you, you know.”

“I’d rather not talk about her. Let’s just get started on this geographical profile.” He jabbed his finger into the file in front of him.

To his surprise and irritation, Jinks started laughing. “Wow. No offense, Dr. Reid, but you have got to be one of the worst liars I have ever met.”

Reid frowned. It was true that he’d never been able to successfully lie to a member of the team—though he had hidden the headaches from them so far—but he’d often been successful with lying to suspects to gain their trust. “What are you talking about?”

“Emily didn’t tell you about me?”

Emily. Like they were more than coworkers, they were close friends—like he was saying that he and Prentiss were closer than she and Reid had ever been, after just a few months. And maybe it was true. “We haven’t exactly had much chance to talk.”

“Right.” From the tone, Jinks didn’t believe that one, either. He leaned across the table, resting his elbows on it. “Well, the thing about me, Dr. Reid, is that I can always tell when a person is lying.”

Reid shook his head. “I’m sure you’re very good at reading body language, but it’s impossible to say you can always tell. Even polygraph machines can be fooled.”

“And yet, here I am. It’s not the body language. I’ve just always been able to do it. It’s kind of how I ended up with the Warehouse. I wouldn’t buy Artie’s much more reasonable explanations as to what they were doing, because I could tell they weren’t the truth.”

Reid still didn’t believe him, because it was ridiculous, but he sighed, deciding not to argue anymore. “Let’s just get to work on this geographical profile.” He got up to find a map of the city.

“Sure. I mean, I do want to catch this guy. We can talk about you and Emily later. I’m a good listener.”

Reid gritted his teeth, opened the map, and threw it down on the table. “Start marking the abduction sites.” He handed Steve a red marker. “I’ll take the dump sites. We’ll see if there’s a pattern.”

Steve uncapped the marker and took a file, still smiling. Damn, it would be easier to hate this guy if he weren’t so cute.

They had the sites mapped out in short order—abductions in red, dump sites in black. Naturally, they were spread out all over the city. The dump sites, though, were clustered somewhat closer together; it was a poorer part of town, where people moving about in the early morning were less likely to be noticed and children lying on the ground stuck out less, but Reid also hoped that it meant this was their unsub’s comfort zone. He picked up a smaller black marker and connected the dots, marking out a lopsided circle.

Steve sighed, staring down at the map. “So does this tell you anything about the killer? It looks completely random to me.”

Reid nodded. “Actually, that apparent randomness tells us something useful. This is an organized offender. The fact that the abduction sites are so spread out especially tells me that he’s trying to avoid being seen. He’s aware of where he’s been before and is not returning to those areas.”

“Is that going to help us catch him?”

“It’ll help narrow down the suspect list, at least. We won’t be looking for someone who can’t hold down a job. The times of the abductions and dumps do trouble me, though…”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, they’re scattered throughout the day, but none of them are in the early morning or mid-afternoon. Unless he drives a school bus, I can’t think of any other regular job that would keep him unavailable at only two times.” Reid sucked a tooth thoughtfully. “We probably should have the others look into the school bus drivers, actually.”

“Wouldn’t they have to have background checks?”

“Exactly. I’m going to call Garcia.” He pulled out his cell phone and rang hers, but it just went straight to voice mail. “That’s strange, I’m not getting through.”

“Oh, she’s the one who went to the Warehouse to work with Claud, right? Here, let me.” Jinks leaned over, reached into a bag, and pulled out a strange device. It was much bigger than a cell phone, but it looked almost like an old-fashioned television when Jinks had pulled back the cover, with a screen at the top and knobs and buttons below. He poked a few things and the device made a buzzing noise.

Moments later, the screen flickered to life to show a young woman with a wide grin. She was appearing in black-and-white, but Reid was sure there was more than one color in her hair. “Hey, biffle! How’s the FBI? Are yours as awesome as mine?”

“That remains to be seen,” was Steve’s enigmatic answer. “But actually, I’m calling on his behalf. Can you put Garcia on?”

“Sure.” The screen moved, and a moment later the smiling face it framed was Garcia’s. She looked really strange in black-and-white.

“Garcia?” Reid asked, leaning over the device and trying to figure out how it was transmitting picture. “Can you see me?”

“Totally,” she said. “You got something for me?”

“I want you to do some background checks. Do you have a decent computer system there?”

“Oh,” Garcia said, a gleeful laugh in her voice. “Do I. Come on, I’m dying for you to let me put it through its paces.”

Reid couldn’t help smiling. He knew that tone of voice. She was never going to want to leave. “I want you to do some background checks.”

“Is that it?”

“Bus drivers at at all the schools that the victims attended. Just… tell me if there are any commonalities, any connections between the drivers and the victims, any holes in their backgrounds. That sort of thing.”

“Boring. But I’ll get it to you.”

The other girl reappeared. “So you’re Reid, right? Pen-pen didn’t tell me you were cute. Lucky, Steve.”

Reid dearly hoped he was not blushing. Steve snatched back the device. “Bye, Claud. Go help Garcia find that information.” He pressed a button, and the screen turned off.

Reid quickly turned his eyes back to the map. If Steve was half as good at seeing lies as he thought he was, he would be able to see Spencer’s embarrassment. “Garcia will be able to tell us something, at least.”

“If they can work together and not get in each other’s way, Claudia will help her get it in half the time.”

“I hope they can, then.” He traced the lines between dots with a finger, frowning. There was a pattern here, he could feel it. He just hoped it wasn’t another unsub taunting them. “I’m going to see if there are a few more maps.” He pushed his chair back and went over to the filing cabinet by the wall, which the local FBI had stocked with all kinds of useful things—meaning, as far as he could tell as he rifled through a drawer, that they’d been using it to store anything they couldn’t figure out a better place for.

He heard Steve stand up and walk up to him. “What are you looking for?”

“Not sure. But these will help.” He’d found a few maps—one of the city bus routes, and another of bike paths. He held them out to Steve, fanned out like a deck of cards. “Let’s compare the abduction and dump sites to the bus routes and bike paths.”

Steve took the bus routes, nodding. “Makes sense to me.”

They both walked back to the table and separated to walk back to their seats, across from one another. Steve cleared his throat, suddenly sounding uncomfortable. “By the way, in light of Claud’s rather inappropriate comment and the fact that we’re apparently going to be working in the same room for a while, there’s something you should know about me.”

Reid looked up, blinking in surprise. He recalled Claudia’s comment about Reid being cute instantly, of course, but he didn’t know what that had to do with Steve. “What is it?” he asked warily.

Steve spread his hand apart, all of his body language projecting truth and openness. “I’m gay.”

“Oh. Is that all?” Actually, this new knowledge sent Reid’s stomach churning with anxiety, but it didn’t exactly make him uncomfortable. “I’m not surprised. I mean, I shouldn’t be, because statistically two to thirteen percent of the population has had at least one homosexual experience, though it’s difficult to quantify numbers of people who believe they are or identify as homosexual or bisexual because self-reporting is notoriously unreliable—and the ten percent number that is frequently cited was actually complete guesswork on Kinsey’s part. I, uh, didn’t mean to say that you exhibit any stereotypically homosexual or feminine traits, because you don’t, at least, not that I’ve noticed.” Steve was looking at him with bemusement. Shit. He was doing his anxiety babbling again. “What I mean to say is, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable to know that you’re gay and actually I believe I may be bisexual myself.”

Wait. That wasn’t what he meant to say at all. But now his running mouth had shut down and he had no idea what to say after that.

Steve, however, was smiling. “Well, that’s cool. As long as you’re not planning to relentlessly hit on me.”

“What? No. I mean, not that you—”

Thankfully, Steve held up a hand to stop him, and it worked. “I get it, man. And it’s cool to have everything on the table.”

Reid raised his eyebrows as a connection occurred to him. “A lot of people think I’m lying when I babble like that.”

Steve shrugged. “See? I know you’re not. You may not know exactly how you identify—and believe me, I get that—but you’re definitely no homophobe.”

“No. Definitely not.” Reid shook his head. This was not really getting him anywhere. He opened the map of bus routes, clearing his throat. “Back to work.”

“Right. Catching a killer.” Steve unfolded his own map.

Reid lost himself in his study for a few minutes, until Steve said, “Wow.”

“What is it?” he asked, looking up.

“You were right to pick these out. All of the dump sites are within a block of a bus route, and most of the abduction sites are close to one.”

He did not voice his relief out loud, because that would sound horrible, but the bus routes were getting him nowhere. He refolded the map. “Let me take a look at that?”

While he was checking over what Steve had marked, the communication device started buzzing. He opened it to show Garcia’s face. “I checked the bus drivers,” she reported. “Didn’t find any connections.”

Reid nodded. “I figured as much.”

“Oh, come on, what did you make me do all that work for then?”

“As though you didn’t love it. No, we just figured out that he must be using the city buses.”

“Want me to check those drivers?” She sounded hopeful.

“That’s a possibility, if these kids take the city buses. Even if they didn’t, bus drivers are authority figures most kids would trust. So you might as well.”

“Great! TTFN.” She hung up.

Reid looked over at Steve. “Do you have any idea what those letters meant?”

Steve shook his head, grinning. “But it sounds like those two are peas in a pod.”

He pointed at the communication device. “How does that thing work?”

“It’s called a Farnsworth, and I have no idea. Ask Claudia, if you get a chance and can handle the technical information. It probably involves magic somehow.”

Reid shook his head even as he began to mark out the relevant bus routes on their map of the abduction and dump sites. “That’s not exactly technical.”

“No one at the Warehouse will mention magic, but there’s no other explanation for how some of these things work. And they do work.”

He wasn’t going to get into that argument again. “Looks like some of these bus routes connect. I doubt he’s a driver, but he’s got to be taking the buses. He must not have a car—that’s why the dump sites are all very close to bus routes.”

“That should help narrow things down, right?”

“It should. Of course, if he doesn’t have a driver’s license, that will make him harder to find.” He took out his cell phone and typed out a text to send to Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss. He hated the damn phone, but this was easier than calling each of them separately. _Ask about buses & bus drivers. He’s using buses._ “I’ve let the others know.”

“Great.” Steve leaned back in his chair. “Any other brilliant ideas for things we can do while we wait?”

Reid let his mind run over the things he usually worked on to narrow down a profile, then shook his head. “Not until they call us with something more. Garcia’s already tracking down any possible sword purchases. With Claudia, of course.”

“Good.”

“Good?” He chewed his lip nervously. Steve wasn’t going to proposition him, was he? This was why he avoided telling people about his sexuality—Garcia and his mother were the only people he’d told. The latter because he told her everything, and Garcia because he knew when she propositioned him, it was always a joke.

“We can talk about Emily some more.”

Oh. That… was slightly better than being propositioned. He shook his head. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about her.”

“And I told you I could tell you were lying.”

He sighed. “What exactly makes you think I want to talk about her?” He knew his voice was getting hurried and mumbly, but he never knew what to do about it.

“Besides my superpower? You’re bitter, man. Look.” Steve leaned forward, hands clasped, expression earnest. “I know you’re pissed. But from what I understand, she didn’t have a choice. Mrs. Frederic just kind of swooped down on her in France and kidnapped her to the Warehouse.”

“Who’s Mrs. Frederic?”

“Our boss. But don’t change the subject.”

He shook his head, confused. “But that was after she left.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was already in France, where she was supposed to be in witness protection, when your agency contacted her. That’s what she told us, anyway.”

Steve frowned, his eyebrows furrowing together. “I knew she was in France. I didn’t know she was in witness protection.”

“Neither did I, until yesterday.” There was no way to keep those words from being poisonously bitter.

“Okay, I’m still confused. To be honest, while she talked a lot about your team, she didn’t say much about why she was there, except that Mrs. Frederic nabbed her in Paris. I did know that she was in hiding from someone who wanted to kill her, but I thought the whole plan was to keep her at the Warehouse until you guys caught him.” He spread his hands to the side. “I mean, if there’s one thing the Warehouse is good at, it’s being secret.”

Reid pressed his hands to his temples. “You really didn’t know that she faked her own death?”

“Shit. I mean, uh, no.”

Reid might not have had any lie-detection superpowers, but he was a damn good profiler, and his eidetic memory had only aided his observational skills. He knew when someone was lying. And Steve really hadn’t known that Emily faked her own death—well, he amended himself, with JJ and Hotch’s help, apparently. Emily, it seemed, had gotten very good at lying herself.

And that was the thing that really made him start talking. He had to explain the story to Steve, after all. By the time he finished, the other agent was up and pacing, angry and baffled. Finally, he sat back down, but next to Reid instead of across from him. “Wow, I’m sorry, man. I can only imagine how angry I would be if someone I cared about faked their death. And I try not to get angry.”

“What?”

“Oh, I’m a Buddhist. Not really relevant. What I mean is, I completely get why you’re pissed, and to be honest, I’m kind of pissed now myself. I don’t know why she never told us.”

“Maybe she didn’t want you to hate her,” Reid muttered.

“You don’t hate her.”

“No, I don’t.” He sighed. “I feel like it would be easier if I did, if I could just write her off like that, but I can’t. She’s still my friend. And honestly, I think I might be more pissed at JJ and Hotch.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what to tell you about them. But for her… I think you should really talk to her. When you find the time, I mean. It’ll help. She always seemed really sad, and I know it was because she had to leave you guys.”

“No one else seems mad.”

“They probably are. But they’re happy enough that she’s actually alive not to say anything.”

He nodded. That certainly sounded like Garcia and Morgan. Rossi… well, he seemed like he might have figured it out before she came back. “Well, if I get a chance between working on this case—”

As if to prove his point, his phone rang, interrupting him. He raised his eyebrows, answered, and they were back to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Emily’s hands were tight on the steering wheel as she drove to the home of Sylvia Scranton, the second victim. (Pete, she was pleased to discover, was now so used to being surrounded by strong, no-nonsense women that he hadn’t even put up a token protest when she insisted on driving.) She couldn’t force her shoulders to relax. She should be happy—she’d finally returned to her team, even if she wasn’t with any of them right now. And Doyle was dead. That, she was unequivocally happy about. But why couldn’t she calm down?

“So what was with that guy?” came Pete’s voice, breaking into her thoughts.

“Which guy?” But she was pretty sure she knew who he meant. She hoped her distracted tone of voice could be put down to the fact that she was navigating a narrow left turn at the moment.

“Doctor Spencer Reid.” The words sounded mocking, but Pete sounded like that a lot. Humor was just his defense against the rest of the world, like compartmentalizing was hers. “Why do you even have a doctor on your team?”

“His doctorates are in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. We always introduce him with the title because he looks so young—and he is young, actually. He’s just brilliant.”

“You like him.”

“What?” That made her laugh. Sometimes Pete’s defense was better than hers. “He’s… one of my best friends. I hate that I couldn’t tell him I was going into witness protection. And I think he hates me for it.”

“He doesn’t hate you. But he thought you were dead?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess I can see why he’d be so upset. But what about the others?”

“JJ and Hotch were in on it. Morgan might be pissed too, but he’ll tell me personally.” She sighed, making a hard stop at a red light. “We haven’t really had much chance to talk, though I’m sure Reid has been avoiding me on purpose.”

“Well, if I can do anything to give you guys a chance to talk, I will.”

She shot him a glance, feeling her hands relax slightly on the wheel. “Would you? I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Hey, is that the house?”

It was, so she found a place to park, then walked with him up to the door. Her practiced eye assessed every detail of the house in front of them, coming to a conclusion that the family within was low-income but comfortable, and that they were still dealing with the loss of their daughter—there was a girl’s bike out front, lying on its side in a posture of abandonment.

The door was answered quickly after she knocked. The lined face of the woman who answered confirmed the observations Emily had already made. “Can I help you?” Her voice was soft and just slightly shaky.

“Ma’am, my name is Emily Prentiss. I’m with the FBI.” She held up her badge, then indicated Pete. “This is my partner, Pete Lattimer. We’d like to speak with you about your daughter, Sylvia. May we come in?”

The woman sniffed and nodded, holding the door farther open for them. Emily walked confidently inside, even though she could feel Pete’s eyes boring into the back of her head over her glossing-over of the truth.

“I don’t know what else I can tell you,” the woman—Sylvia’s mother—said, showing them into a small sitting room, with newish easy chairs and a faded couch. “I already told the police everything about the day she…”

“I understand,” said Emily before the woman could break down into sobs. “But I’m with the BAU. We look for slightly different information—it’s more about behavior. And we have a lead we think might help us find your daughter’s killer, so anything more that we can come up with can only be helpful.”

Mrs. Scranton sat up straighter. Emily could see that the news had, as she’d intended, given the woman hope. “Then I’ll certainly do my best to answer your questions.”

Emily had seated herself across from Mrs. Scranton, and she shot a look to Pete, who was still standing. He frowned at her, so she decided she could start the questioning—if there was any arguing to be done, they would do it after they’d left. “Can you tell me about where Sylvia was when she was taken?”

Mrs. Scranton nodded. “She was at the playground with her friend Anna and Anna’s parents.”

Emily winced inwardly. That had to be awful—the situation was just compounding the guilt across two families, since the Scrantons would blame both themselves and Anna’s family, and Anna’s family would be blaming themselves as well. And that poor little girl would need a lot of counseling. But she was staying focused on her questions. “If you can give us their address later, we’ll want to speak to them. But first I’d like to ask if this was a routine for Sylvia? Did she often go to the park with Anna?”

“No—I mean, yes, she did, but it wasn’t a routine. We did have a routine—on Mondays the Richardsons would take Sylvia, and on Wednesdays I would take Anna. But this was a Thursday. We didn’t usually go to the park, it was just that I had a toothache, and that was the only time I could manage to get an appointment with the dentist.” She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “If only I hadn’t been worrying so much about myself…”

“It’s not your fault, Mrs. Scranton,” Emily said, softly but with as much strength as she could manage. “There was no way you could have known that something would happen to Sylvia while you were at the dentist. And the only reason that something did is that a very sick man happened to see her.” She didn’t mention the fact that if Sylvia hadn’t been there, based on their unsub’s lack of a clear preferences, chances were good that her friend Anna would have been taken instead. No point in compounding that guilt. “It’s the killer’s fault, not yours. Do you understand me?”

Mrs. Scranton gulped air and nodded. “Yes, I… thank you.”

“This is very helpful,” she said, glancing at Pete. He still didn’t look happy. She didn’t know whether he understood what she did, that the unsub was most likely grabbing whatever kid he could find instead of stalking one in particular like pedophiles usually did, but she could explain that later. “Now, this question may be uncomfortable, but it’s very important. Many children are very friendly and don’t really understand their parents’ fears about strangers. Does that describe Sylvia? Or was she more of a shy type?”

That made the mother smile slightly. “She was very friendly. She was old enough to understand that it wasn’t a good idea to talk to strangers, but she did forget sometimes. But she would never have gone off with a stranger! She certainly knew better than that—once she refused to leave school with her uncle because he wasn’t me.”

Emily nodded, feeling her phone buzz. She checked it as discreetly as she could and was surprised to find a text from Reid. “Ask about buses & bus drivers. He’s using buses.” Emily raised her eyebrows. “Mrs. Scranton, did Sylvia regularly ride the bus?”

“Well, yes,” she said. “We take the bus most everywhere. Why do you ask?”

“If this man is a bus driver, or rode the bus with you, Sylvia may not have thought of him as a stranger at all. Can you think of any bus drivers or fellow passengers who seemed to have a little too much interest in Sylvia? Maybe someone who smiled and said hello to her every time, or who tried to give her candy or other gifts?”

Mrs. Scranton frowned, then shook her head slowly. “No, I can’t think of anyone like that.”

“What about anyone not associated with the bus, like fellow parents at the playground? Was there anyone who seems particularly friendly, out of the ordinary? It would be subtle—they don’t want to make it obvious what they’re doing.”

She sighed. “I can’t think of anyone like that.”

“All right.” Emily didn’t press her, because this did seem to be a random kidnapping. “Pete has some a few more questions that might seem strange to you.”

Pete cleared his throat. “Mrs. Scranton, has time seemed strange in any way in the last few weeks? Things happening more quickly or slowly than you expected?”

Emily listened with half an ear as Pete ran down his list of Artifact-related questions, about fudge smells and foreign languages and other things that seemed nonsensical. She’d never been on a field assignment before with him, of course, but she knew the purpose behind most of the questions, and she didn’t have to listen to the specific answers. She kept her eyes on Mrs. Scranton, offering encouraging smiles and nods when they were called for, and mainly observing the woman’s behavior. There wasn’t much to see, however. She was sure Sylvia’s mother was telling the truth.

Once the questions were finished, they thanked Mrs. Scranton—Emily gave her a card and the usual spiel about calling if she thought of anything—and left. Emily climbed into the SUV’s driver’s seat and sighed, resting her forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. Working for the Warehouse had been something of a nice vacation away from all the horrors of the BAU job, but it was still hard to come back to it. She heard Pete climb in and slam his door and tensed, waiting for his anger.

Instead, he said in a surprisingly mild voice, “That was pretty impressive in there.”

She turned to him, raising her eyebrows. “What was?”

“The way you handled her.” He gestured toward the house. “You got her calmed down a lot more quickly than I could—and don’t tell her I said this, but Myka is not always good at calming people down either.”

Emily couldn’t help smiling. It was true that Myka was pretty intense. “Well, thanks. It wasn’t that hard.”

Pete shrugged. “I was impressed I’ve never gotten to see you in action before—I mean, in the field. It was pretty cool.”

She laughed and turned the key in the ignition. “Thanks. And maybe I’ll impress you again. We have another interview to get to.”

\--

“We’re doing everything we can to find Alice, Mrs. Jensen,” Hotch said gently. “We believe her disappearance is related to a string of other kidnappings.”

Mrs. Jensen, who was young and dark-haired, hiccuped and shuddered against the pressure of her husband’s hand on her back. “Do you… I mean, the other children, did they…”

“We have every reason to believe that Alice is still alive,” he said, letting what he didn’t say answer the question she was trying to ask. “The man we’re looking for held his other victims for several days. But time is of the essence here.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Jensen. “What can we do?” He looked like he’d been crying, too, though he was holding it back more successfully now. They were both so young. Hotch’s heart ached with sympathy for them.

“We’d like you to tell us every detail you can remember about what happened when Alice disappeared,” said H. G., her British accent carefully modulated in sympathetic tones. Hotch resisted the urge to give her a surprised look. He kept half-forgetting she was there, since she didn’t physically exist, and wasn’t part of his team—but she seemed to be doing fairly well for herself.

The story came out slowly, but eventually, Hotch thought they had all the details. The three of them had been together at a grocery store. Mrs. Jensen had been inside shopping, and Alice had been playing on a mechanical pony. Mr. Jensen had stepped aside to smoke a cigarette, and when he looked back, halfway through his cigarette, Alice was gone. Naturally, both parents blamed themselves, and though they carefully avoided saying so, Hotch was sure they were blaming each other as well. Hopefully, the BAU and Warehouse 13 would be able to find their daughter and heal this family.

Hotch made a mental note to get Garcia to check the grocery store’s security cameras, if they had any, and then guided Mr. Jensen through a cognitive interview, trying to come up with any more details. But it was obvious that he had seen nothing, at least nothing that seemed suspicious. Maybe that was an effect of this artifact. He still wanted to be skeptical about the existence of these artifacts, but somehow it was hard—especially since, on the way out of the FBI building, Myka and Pete had shown them the wireless communication devices that they would be using.

His phone buzzed during the interview, but he ignored it until he was done, then let H. G. take over with the series of artifact-related questions she had explained that she would want to ask. He vaguely heard her asking a question about chocolate fudge as he stepped aside to check it.

A text from Reid. Interesting. Buses seemed like a poor choice for a child killer, especially if he was using a sword—but if Reid had found it, it must be true. He turned back to the family, watching them surreptitiously for behavioral cues while H. G. finished her interview. Then he asked, “Does Alice, or you as a family, regularly take the bus?”

Mr. Jensen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “She takes the school bus every day. Almost every day.”

“What about city buses?”

He shook his head slowly, pressing his lips together in a disapproving line. “We drive.”

“There’s a bus stop outside our grocery store, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Mrs. Jensen.

Hotch nodded. “We believe the man who took Alice is getting around by bus. That will help us narrow things down.” He glanced at H. G., who gave him a tiny smile, then turned back to the family and fished out a couple of business cards. “Thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything else that you think might be helpful, please don’t hesitate to call. We’ll let you know as soon as we have any solid leads.” He felt guilty leaving them alone like this, but the killer had not contacted the other families, and there was no reason to believe he would change now. He could send JJ over later—she would be able to smooth things a little between them, maybe even get some information that he and the Warehouse agent couldn’t.

They took the cards and thanked him, though they didn’t sound like they meant it. He and H. G. took their leave.

Their second interview, with the family of one of the boys who had been found dead, was similarly unproductive—though they did say that Jacob had taken the city buses a few times, even if it wasn’t a regular occurrence. If the unsub was using the buses to hunt, that was valuable information. But if that was the case, it made Hotch wonder why he was taking these particular kids, rather than kids who took the bus regularly and might be easier to gain the trust of. There just seemed to be no pattern here.

Well, they would be discussing things with the rest of the team soon enough. He glanced at H. G. as he drove, wondering what she was thinking. They’d both been mostly silent when they weren’t conducting interviews. She—her hologram—sat in the passenger seat with no seatbelt, hovering around the black orb that seemed to hold her. Seeming to feel his gaze on her, she turned and smiled pleasantly at him. “The speed of this vehicle is really quite lovely,” she remarked.

Surprised, he glanced at the speedometer. They were on a highway, but it was rush hour, and he was driving like a civilian, since they were in no hurry. “We’re only going fifty miles an hour.”

She laughed. “Exactly!”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your surprise,” he said, his brows drawing together.

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t really say I was surprised.” He saw her turn back toward the window. “I’ve been in vehicles like this one before. But in my youth, only the fastest trains could get up to speeds like this.”

Now he was really confused. And he didn’t confuse easily. “You don’t look more than thirty. And that’s pushing it.”

“Thank you for your flattery, Agent Hotchner, but as a matter of fact I was born in 1866, and I was thirty-four when I was bronzed.”

“Bronzed? Like a pair of baby shoes?” He had a pair of Jack’s shoes like that—or he had. He wasn’t sure where they were at the moment, actually. But the shoes weren’t important; it was his growing son he had to give all his attention to, after all.

“Very much like. Think of it as a form of stasis. I was awakened last year and—well, it’s a long story. But I have only been aware of the modern world for a little more than a year, and I find it endlessly fascinating.”

“I suppose I would too, if I were in your situation.” He turned the car down the exit ramp, and their conversation drifted off.

\--

Emily and Pete returned to the FBI room just behind Myka and Morgan, who seemed to have made good friends of each other despite the obvious constraints on Morgan’s usual flirtatious nature. Steve and Reid were still there, of course; JJ seemed to be out and Hotch and H. G. had not returned yet. There was a map spread out on the table, covered in Reid’s usual haphazard-looking lines and colors. She bent over it as the others seated themselves. “These are the routes you think the unsub is taking?”

She’d asked Reid, but it was Steve who answered. “Yeah, we marked out the bus routes that are close to the abduction and dump sites. Unfortunately we haven’t been able to narrow down a hub, since most of the city bus lines seem to be used.”

“That’s probably a countermeasure. Still, I think we’re lucky. If he were driving, he’d be harder to track.”

Steve nodded and raised his eyebrows toward Reid, seeming to communicate that Reid had said the same thing. She turned and tried to smile at Reid, but he looked away.

A few minutes later, Hotch and H. G. returned. Hotch handed the orb to Myka without comment and took one of the empty seats at the table. “All right, let’s compare notes. I take it everyone got Reid’s text and asked about buses.” There were nods all around. “From our interviews, it sounds like it’s possible that he’s hunting them with the buses, but he probably isn’t grooming them that way. Alice Jensen never took the bus, though there was one that could have passed her, and Jacob Giraud rarely took it.”

“I would consider it unlikely that he was meeting victims on his bus even without that information,” Reid said. He still didn’t seem to want to meet anyone’s eyes, but he wasn’t quite speaking in the same low monotone he’d been using before. Emily supposed that was progress. “He’s taking too many different buses to spend much time with anyone on them.”

“None of our victims’ families said they took the bus,” said Morgan.

Emily nodded. “Sylvia Scranton and Jesús Amaya both took the bus, but none of the parents could come up with anyone who had been acting friendly towards them. And there’s another interview we’ll want to take on tomorrow.” Quickly, she explained the circumstances of Sylvia’s kidnapping and how they needed information from her friend’s family as well.

“So does this bus information help us find him?” Myka asked.

“One possibility would be to stake out all of the bus lines he’s using, but I doubt that would be productive, especially if he’s using many different ones. But Garcia can narrow our search to people without drivers’ licenses, and JJ can instruct the bus drivers to be on the lookout for him.” Hotch looked down at the phone in his hand, probably texting one of the women he’d just mentioned.

“Of course, that won’t help if he is a bus driver,” said Steve.

“I don’t think that’s likely,” said Morgan. “For one thing, I assume you had Garcia check the bus drivers.” When Steve and Reid both nodded, he continued. “Also, all of the abductions and dumps have been during the day. The drivers are on their regular routes during that time. They can’t stop the bus to kidnap a kid or dump a body—it would be too noticeable.”

“But the drivers have somewhere to stash their luggage,” Myka argued, raising one eyebrow. “They would have somewhere to hide the sword, and the body, unlike a regular passenger.”

“That’s true, but this guy is clearly organized,” said Morgan. “If he were a driver, he would hide his trail better by not using buses all the time. Anyway, a driver would have a regular route that he would have to stick to. He wouldn’t be using all the different buses.”

“I agree with Morgan,” said Hotch. “Our unsub is unlikely to be a bus driver. But the varied timeline of the abductions presents us with a conundrum if we’re assuming he’s organized, which every other fact does point to. Reid, do you have a list of the times?”

“Better than that, actually,” said Reid, sounding like his usual excited self for the first time. He lifted the map and picked up another large piece of paper underneath it. “This was Steve’s idea, but I like how it helps us visualize the times along with the sites as we have on the map.” He held it up.

Emily could now see that it was a large cardboard clock face. The numbers were written in Reid’s tiny, wobbly handwriting, but the dots were clearly visible—red ones scattered all around the clock, and black ones clustered together on the right side.

“The red dots closer to the outside are AM and the ones in the middle are PM,” said Steve, pointing out different dots as he spoke. “And those are all the abductions, of course. The black dots are the body dumps, and those are all AM. The reason for that was pretty obvious even for me—he wanted to get rid of the bodies at night when it was dark and there wasn’t anyone around to see him.”

“That is quite a range,” said H. G.

“Cool clock,” said Pete, leaning closer to stare at it. “But what’s the conundrum? Do you guys think if he was organized he would be doing all his abductions at the same time?”

“Actually, the randomly scattered sites and times do point toward an organized personality,” said Emily. “Like we said before, it’s a countermeasure. He doesn’t want to be predictable.”

“Couldn’t he just be crazy?” said Myka. “I mean, we’ve seen a lot of artifact use that’s completely erratic and unpredictable, and that’s not because someone is trying to avoid us. That’s just because the artifact keeps them from thinking rationally.”

“That could be part of it,” said Emily, nodding. “But if this isn’t artifact-induced behavior, we have to look at it psychologically, and generally, when you have an unsub who’s so irrational he doesn’t care where or when he picks up his victims, you have more signs of that.”

“And he certainly wouldn’t be sane enough to use different bus lines or dump the bodies only in the early hours of the morning,” said Morgan. “It’s possible that a partner could be encouraging that behavior, but you hardly ever see pedophiles working with partners, so it’s unlikely in this case, too.”

“Then again, Gilles de Rais did work with a number of accomplices,” Emily said. “If the sword is letting our unsub gain control over others and have them do his hunting for him, that could explain a lot, actually.”

“And that would solve our conundrum,” said Hotch. “More than one unsub, more than one abduction time. If the dominant partner is organized and the submissive or submissives are not so organized, that explains some things.”

“ _What_ is the conundrum?” exclaimed Pete, slapping his hand down on the table.

“Oh, sorry, Pete,” said Emily. “The thing is that usually—almost always—an organized unsub means that he’s not only organized in his killing, but also in his life. He has a steady job, probably a family. So it’s confusing that he would be abducting at so many times of the day. Shouldn’t he be working or with his family?”

Pete sighed. “Okay, that makes sense. So the accomplices could be, what, less organized than he is, so they’re not holding down jobs?”

“Right,” said Emily. “Or maybe they’re kids—teenagers—which would fit with the MO and automatically make them less organized.”

“What did Gilles de Rais do for a living?” Steve asked. “Maybe we should start there.”

To no one’s surprise, it was Reid who answered. Shaking his head, he said, “De Rais was nobility. He owned land, collected taxes, and fought in wars, including alongside Jeanne d’Arc.”

“There’s nobody who really has the equivalent of that job today,” said Myka.

“There are,” said Reid, “but they would most likely have enough resources that we would be unable to catch them—for example, they probably wouldn’t be dumping the bodies on the street.”

“And they wouldn’t be taking the bus,” said Morgan. “Okay, so we’re looking for a guy with some kind of job—maybe he’s a freelancer? But he doesn’t have a very high income, since he doesn’t have a car, so he’s your classic underachiever, unappreciated at home and in the workplace.”

“Considering we can’t make a guess as to race or age, what with the variety of victims, I think we have a pretty solid profile at this point,” said Hotch. “Has anyone spoken to Garcia today?”

“We talked to her about the bus drivers,” said Reid. “We guessed he might be a school bus driver, but they all checked out. She checked the city bus drivers too, and a few of those were possibles, but I guess we’ve mostly ruled them out now.”

“She was in the Warehouse, though, so we couldn’t get her by cell phone,” said Steve. He pulled out one of the Farnsworth devices. “I’ll call Claudia on this if you have something you want to ask them.” At Hotch’s nod, he pressed a few buttons and handed the device to Hotch, who took it gingerly by one corner.

Emily had to smother a grin, and glanced over at Morgan. She could see that he was fighting laughter as well. While Hotch still wore his usual inscrutable face, his body language said that he was uncomfortable, and that was extremely rare.

The device buzzed until finally an unfamiliar woman’s voice spoke. “Hey—wait, who is this?”

Hotch coughed. “Er, is this Claudia at the Warehouse?”

“Is that Hotch?” came Rossi’s voice from the background, faint but clear. “Give that to Garcia.”

Hotch pressed his lips even closer together as presumably the device on the other end was passed around. “Hello, sir!” came Garcia’s cheery voice at last. “Have you got something for me? These computers are raring and ready to go.”

“Yes, Garcia, we’ve got a preliminary profile. Have you checked on all registered child sex offenders in the area?”

“We have,” Garcia said. “It wasn’t fun. But none of them have any connection to our victims or to any artifacts.”

“All right, we’re looking for someone who works freelance and doesn’t keep regular hours. He’s somewhere between the ages of twenty-five and sixty and he doesn’t own a vehicle.”

“Okay, I’ve got all that, but there’s a lot of names.”

“None of them are registered offenders?”

“No, sir, those guys all have cars.”

“All right. What about connections to the victims?”

Emily could hear Garcia’s fingers tapping away, and quiet voices in the background that seemed to belong to the other girl. “Ah, I’ve got one for you. Sylvia Scranton’s uncle, Guy Crowden, freelance computer geek, lives alone. He’s not as good as me, of course.”

“Thanks, Garcia. Send us his information, and hang onto your list. Will you be able to connect remotely from where you’re staying?”

There was a pause. “Affirmative.”

“Then you should try to get some sleep. I don’t know if the rest of us will be tonight.”

“All right, sir. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Hotch frowned at the device, lifted his hand, but then shook his head minutely and handed it back to Steve, who pressed a button and shut the lid. Emily couldn’t prevent a tiny snort from escaping her, but she covered it with a cough. Then she finally managed to catch Reid’s eye. He wasn’t even bothering to hide his grin. Pete had his eyes narrowed at them in confusion.

Their expressions all sobered, however, when their phones and devices got Garcia’s text with the address for Guy Crowden. “We going to pay this guy a visit?” Morgan asked.

“We’d better,” said Hotch. “Alice Jensen has only a day or two left, at most. If we don’t find her tonight we’ll be too late, and this is our best lead.”

“Can I ask a question?” said Myka as they all started to stand up and strap on weapons. JJ had entered from somewhere and gave Emily a small, tight smile. Considering they were looking for a kid, Emily felt extremely glad to have a mom who was also a crack shot on their side.

“Of course,” Hotch said.

“Why are we looking for an uncle of one of the victims? Isn’t the family the least likely place to find the killer?”

“In some cases, yes, but unfortunately it’s not true with pedophiles,” said Emily. “They tend to go for the nearest victim they can find, and if that’s not their own children—some can’t even perform with adults—it will likely be nieces and nephews.”

“But Sylvia wasn’t the first victim,” said Steve. “Why would he kill other children first?”

“Perfecting his technique,” said Reid. “Throwing us off his trail. There’s any number of possible explanations.”

“And it could be the artifact,” said Emily. “If the sword is what’s compelling him to kill, he could have resisted killing his favorite nice for a while, but eventually given in.”

“That’s horrible,” said Myka.

“Yes, it is, and that’s why we’re going to catch him before he kills any more children,” said JJ firmly.

“All right,” said Hotch. “Let’s go.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Well, you heard the man,” said Claudia, standing up and stretching. She felt self-conscious in front of this Artie doppelganger and the gloriously brilliant and completely hot Penelope Garcia, but damn if she was going to let that stop her from being her usual fabulous self. “Time to get back to Leena’s for some shut-eye. And delicious food.”

“I am fully in favor of food,” said the Artie doppelganger. Okay, so he wasn’t a doppelganger—he was definitely nicer and friendlier than Artie. But the beard, and the toughness, and the roundness… though Agent David Rossi was a much snappier dresser. “Is there anywhere to get decent Italian food around here?”

“Oh, we’ll be eating whatever Leena made for us back at the B&B,” said Claudia, glancing at Artie. “Which may very well be Italian. Don’t worry, she’s a great cook.”

“What is this B&B?” asked Rossi.

“It’s where we Warehouse folk like to do our eating and sleeping,” Claudia responded, nudging Penelope to get her to finish what she was doing, syncing up her laptop and the Warehouse’s computers. Artie was glaring at her with arms folded, and he was definitely going to make her destroy that connection once the case was over, but hopefully he wouldn’t yell at her for it just yet. They might need it.

“You don’t have houses?”

“We all eat a lot healthier than we would if we tried to live on our own. Well, except when Leena makes cookies. Anyway, it’s like, protected and stuff. You ready, Pen-Pen?”

“Ready,” said Penelope, clicking her laptop closed and standing up. “Where to?”

“Over to Univille,” said Artie. “It’s not far, though it might seem long if you’re going to carry that thing.”

“We’ll take our rental,” said Rossi. “No point in leaving it here. It’s probably filthy already anyway.”

Penelope caught Claudia’s eye and smirked. Claudia grinned back. She could see that Mr. David Rossi was someone who cared about appearances. Well, it made for a nice contrast.

In the car, the ride to the B&B only took a few minutes, and soon they were all trooping inside to heavenly smells from the kitchen. Leena greeted them with a smile and a floaty white dress. “Hello, you must be from the FBI. Penelope and David, right?” She shook their hands and managed to get even Rossi to crack a smile with her friendly nature. “I’m afraid we’re limited on the number of extra rooms, so Penelope, you’ll be taking Myka’s room, and David, you’ll be taking Steve’s.” Pete had offered to let the visiting FBI agent take his room, but when he had seen what Pete’s room looked like, Steve had insisted that the guest take his.

“Not much of a B&B if you’re filling it up with agents all the time,” commented Rossi, looking around.

Leena laughed. “No, it isn’t, really. It’s more of a boarding house for Warehouse agents. But we call it a B&B to fit in better with the town, just like they pretend to be IRS agents.”

“Oh, that’s no fun,” said Penelope.

“Yeah, it doesn’t exactly get us the friendliest reception,” Claudia said. “Luckily most of our work takes us out of Univille. What is that delightful smell I am sensing from the kitchen, Leena?” Artie, who was never one for patience, especially when it came to food, had already walked over to the dining area.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you must all be starving. The pot roast will be ready in just a few minutes, but I have a salad first. And since Myka’s not here to make sure you eat, Artie,” she said, raising her voice as she led them to the dining area, “I’m going to do that job. There will be no pot roast until you finish your salad.”

Artie grumped. The rest of them laughed.

Dinner was delicious, as usual, and Rossi heaped enough praise onto Leena to make her giggle and even blush a little bit. “Oh my god,” Claudia whispered, leaning over to talk into Penelope’s ear, “is he actually flirting with her?” Leena had to be half Rossi’s age.

Penelope snorted with laughter. “You get used to it. Though if Morgan were here, he’d probably leave her to him.”

Claudia nodded and reached for a slice of carrot cake—Leena really had gone all out today, even though there were actually fewer guests than usual. Between Emily’s somewhat infrequent comments and the gossip that Penelope had filled the Warehouse with today, Claudia felt like she knew all the BAU members, even to the point of knowing some secrets that she’d sworn never to reveal. Her mind wandered to the thought of Steve and the cute doctor alone in a room until she forced it back to the conversation at the table. She did not need to think about her partner and best friend in that way.

\--

The FBI and Warehouse 13 surrounded Guy Crowden’s house. It was a lonely-looking place, set off by itself in an area that may have once been nice, but was now run-down and half-abandoned. Reid got out of the SUV and drew his gun. He didn’t like it, but rules were rules. Hopefully he would get to holster it and find Alice Jensen, if she was here. Something seemed off to him.

Morgan and Myka had outlined a plan for them. They would be in the same teams they had been in earlier that day, except that H. G. wouldn’t be involved; her orb was too much to deal with. JJ would be with Hotch instead. (Reid had very little trouble accepting the orb that projected a hologram of a walking, talking woman—that was science. He wasn’t so sure about Steve’s explanation that the real woman was in some secret prison somewhere. Or the idea that she was H. G. Wells.) Steve and Reid would be going around back to look for an entrance there. Alice would be kept in a room by herself, most likely.

Hotch’s order to go crackled in his ear. Holding his gun low, he began to run in a crouch around the building, Steve right behind him. He could see the others out of the corner of his eye, Morgan and Myka at the door shouting for Guy Crowden to come out, Hotch and JJ flanking them, Emily and Pete checking the perimeter. Then he shut it out, focusing on the task at hand.

There was a back door, and it wasn’t locked. They got inside to an ordinary, if dingy, kitchen. It was well-lit and there were chopped vegetables on the counter. Reid spied a door and nodded toward it. He and Steve entered cautiously. It led to a basement.

From the front of the house was arguing. There was a voice he didn’t recognize—it had to be Crowden’s. They hurried down the basement steps. Steve flicked on a light as they went. It was all in concrete, practically a bunker; on one side of the room was a washer and dryer with piles of clothes next to them, on the other side were canned food and dry goods. Reid swept his flashlight around in a circle, checking for exits, while Steve investigated the clothes. There was nothing.

They ran back up the steps and started checking the rest of the rooms. No sign of a little girl anywhere. Finally, they reached the living room, where Morgan had a middle-aged bald man by the handcuffs and Hotch was speaking tightly to him. “You couldn’t get rid of her, not and lose the only child who trusted you, isn’t that right? So you found other children, surrogates for you.”

“What—no!” exclaimed Crowden. “I’d never do anything like that!”

“Shit.” Steve holstered his gun and stepped forward. “Guys, he’s telling the truth.”

Myka, Pete, and Emily all visibly relaxed, stepping back. Hotch, JJ, and Morgan just turned to look at Steve, disbelief on their faces. Reid stuck behind him, though he was holstering his gun, too.

“What makes you say that?” asked JJ.

“It’s my thing.” He looked at Myka and Pete, who nodded. “I can always tell when someone is lying, and he’s not.”

“Also,” said Reid, “there’s no sign of Alice Jensen in the house.”

“We haven’t checked upstairs,” said Hotch.

“It’s true,” said Emily. “I’ve tested him and—well, I was skeptical at first, but I’m convinced.”

“I think I’m going to check upstairs anyway,” said Reid, though he had a sinking feeling that Emily was right. She was an awfully good liar, after all. He refrained from making a snarky comment to that effect in front of the entirety of two different law enforcement teams.

“I’ll come with you,” said JJ. They searched the entire second floor, checking for secret panels and an attic, and found nothing. When they reached the first floor, Morgan reported that he had also searched the rest of the house a second time, just to be thorough, and had also found nothing.

“Are you going to let me go now?” asked Crowden. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I would never hurt a child.”

“We should probably question him, just in case,” said Myka. “Sorry, Steve, but you know he could be influenced by an artifact.”

“Of course,” said Steve. “My ability only tells me if a person believes they’re telling the truth, not objective fact. If there’s an artifact messing with his memory, I wouldn’t know.”

“We’ll bring him in,” said Hotch. “We can hold him for seventy-two hours if need be. By that time, we should have found Alice Jensen no matter what.”

“Fine,” said Morgan. “Let’s get out of here.”

\--

Alice Jensen was really a lovely little thing: frail and slim, with long, dark hair with a slight wave to it, and pale skin that showed flushes of embarrassment and anger very well. He had always admired the variety of children’s appearances; they started with the same basic template, small-bodied and innocent, but expanded out into a rainbow of forms.

He resisted the urge to caress her face. There would be time enough for that, and he didn’t want to wake her.

She had been frightened at first when he spoke to her at the supermarket, but had quickly calmed down when he’d explained that he just wanted to take her to a tea party. He knew, of course, that it was the sword helping him; without it, she would never have trusted him so. He was so grateful for its help. It was there now, down in the basement below them, calling softly to him. He ignored it for now. He wanted more time to spend with sweet, pretty Alice.

They’d taken the bus back to his house—she’d never been on a city bus before, and had clung so sweetly to his hand, frightened of the large vehicle and all the people who rode it—and had the promised tea party. He’d made weak decaffeinated tea and offered plenty of sugar and cream. He also had dolls collected just for this purpose, and Alice had been delighted by one, a girl doll with blonde curls and a frilly party dress, and had seated it at the extra chair.

Alice was clearly a little girl who knew how tea parties should be. She’d taken charge, speaking sweetly to both him and the doll, and ordering him about for more tea or more sugar or some little sandwiches. He’d obeyed every word, only lingering a few times in the kitchen to watch her pretty hair swing back and forth or her chest swell and fall with her breathing. She was just so lovely. His breathing came fast and he had to press his hands together to keep them from trembling.

When night had fallen and she’d grown sleepy, he’d picked her up to carry her to his bed. But she’d woken up and started crying, demanding her mother and father, and he couldn’t give her that. He’d brought her into bed with him and wrapped his arms tightly around her to keep her from getting away. When she started to scream, he clamped one hand over her mouth. He whispered soothing things in her ear, but she didn’t stop crying until abruptly she fell asleep.

Now she was sleeping in bed with him, her warm body all wrapped up in his arms. She was his now, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be happier.

\--

It was after midnight when Claudia finally got to bed. She burrowed under her covers, intending to get to sleep quickly, but found that she couldn’t. She was tired, but she hadn’t worn out her muscles, and she couldn’t stop thinking about that poor little girl, who was still missing, and hopefully not dead. Her memories of being completely alone, ripped away from her entire family, were too strong—and Alice Jensen was even younger than she had been. It must have been even harder.

After crying a little and getting that out of her system, she got up and turned on her laptop to play Fruit Combat. She’d gotten through three levels when there was a knock on her door.

She jumped up to answer it, thinking there was something else they needed to do. But even though Penelope was standing there, looking kind of amazing in pajamas and no makeup, she didn’t think that was the case. “Hi,” said Penelope. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Claudia shook her head and, stepping aside, gestured to her computer. “No, I couldn’t sleep. You too?”

“Yeah. Usually I like to have a glass of red wine to knock me out, but that doesn’t seem like a good idea here.”

“We don’t have wine in the B&B anyway. Or if we do, Leena won’t tell me where it is.”

Penelope snorted. “You’re old enough to drink.”

“Oh, no, that’s not for me. It’s for Pete. Uh, I mean, he shouldn’t have any.” And that was probably enough of Pete’s personal life. Penelope looked like she understood, anyway.

She walked over and sat on the side of Claudia’s bed. Claudia shut the door behind them. Her heart was beating hard. She told it to stop. She might like girls, but Penelope probably didn’t, and anyway, she had a girlfriend. Penelope sighed. “It’s just… I feel so bad for that poor little girl, you know?”

“I know,” said Claudia, standing awkwardly by the door.

“I counsel victims’ families on the weekends, but I rarely talk to the victims themselves, even when they survive. I just can’t imagine what she’s going through.”

Claudia swallowed and finally let herself go over and sit next to Penelope. “Dammit, you’re going to get me crying again.”

Penelope laughed, but it sounded like there were tears in it. “Sorry. Do you have any methods for getting to sleep?”

“Nope.” Claudia pointed at her computer. “Fruit Combat is as close as I get, and that’s not exactly relaxing.”

“I… I do have a way to relax.”

“Yeah? I could definitely use that. Lay it on me.”

But instead of answering, Penelope grinned suddenly. Then she took Claudia’s face in both of her hands and drew her in for a kiss.

Claudia was so startled she didn’t know what to do. Except kiss her back. And put her arms around Penelope’s soft body, and breathe in her scent…

It was several minutes before Penelope released her lips. Claudia gasped in breath. “Holy shit.” Then her mind caught up with what was going on, despite what her body very clearly wanted. “Wait a minute, what about Kevin? Don’t tell me you made him up.”

Penelope laughed breathlessly. “No, don’t worry. But we’re both bisexual, and we have an agreement. I can have sex with a girl, and he can have sex with a guy, as long as we tell the other person about it in tender… loving… detail.” She breathed the last two words in a very lascivious voice, sending shivers down Claudia’s spine and making her very aware of the fact that their bodies were pressed together and neither one of them was wearing a bra.

“So,” said Penelope, returning to her usual perky tones, “I just want to make sure you’re okay with that, and that you really—”

“Yes,” said Claudia, before she could say anything else.

“Are you absolutely, positively sure?”

Claudia pulled back a little, looking at Penelope’s body, though she felt dazed and she was sure her mind wasn’t working the way it usually did. If the rest of the team called needing help now, she would be screwed. Screwed? No, that was what was about to happen. She was about to screw another girl. Unless she screwed it up and said no.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Oh, good,” said Penelope, and slid her hand up Claudia’s shirt.

Eventually, they did go to sleep. And they slept very well.

\--

Several hours later, Reid stumbled into his hotel room and threw himself facedown on the bed. Several hours of the combined might of Hotch and Myka had turned up nothing in questioning Guy Crowden. The guy was either a really good liar or he wasn’t their unsub. Reid was willing to bet on the latter.

It had been hours since he’d had any coffee, too. He was seriously pondering whether it was worth the effort to take off his shoes and pants when the door opened and the light flicked on.

He sat half-up on his bed, blinking at the sudden light—he hadn’t bothered with the switch when he came in. When he saw Steve in the doorway, he panicked for half a second, before remembering that of course they were sharing rooms in this hotel, since there were so many of them. He hadn’t paid attention to whom he was sharing with, assuming it would be either Hotch or Morgan like usual. Had Emily set this up on purpose? Maybe she’d just figured that he would be more comfortable with a gay roommate than Morgan would. But that didn’t explain why Pete wasn’t Steve’s roommate.

Reid squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. His mind was running a mile a minute. He really was exhausted.

“Sorry,” said Steve, though he was smiling slightly. “Did I wake you?”

Reid shook his head. “I wasn’t asleep yet.”

“Long night.”

“Sure is.”

“We should get some sleep. We’ll need to be up in the morning looking for Alice Jensen.”

Reid yawned. “That’s what coffee’s for. Besides, JJ’s the one who has to get up at the crack of dawn to give the profile to the bus drivers.”

“I certainly don’t envy her that.” Steve finally moved away from the door and walked to the bed on the other side of the small hotel room. “You doing okay?” He sat down with a creak of springs.

“Me? I’m fine.” And they were back to things he didn’t want to talk about, weren’t they?

“Do you believe me yet?”

“About your lie-detector ability? I certainly don’t believe it’s supernatural in any way, but in action, it seems to work well. If Emily couldn’t fool you… well, I guess that’s pretty strong evidence in favor.” He let his eyes fall closed again, though he was still half-sitting up in the bed.

“Yeah, that was kind of an awkward thing to come up.” The springs creaked again as Steve stood. “But you look exhausted, so I’m just going to get the light.” Soft footsteps crossed the room again. Reid pulled out the sheets around the pillow so he could rest his head on it comfortably, and sighed with relief and exhaustion as the world behind his eyelids darkened, indicating that Steve had turned out the light.

The footsteps returned, and then Reid felt a presence next to him. He opened his eyes, confused, but while he could see Steve in the dim light from the hallway and the window, he couldn’t quite make out the other man’s expression. Eventually Steve reached out and rested his hand gently on Reid’s shoulder. “If you need anything, I’m here for you. I just want you to know that.”

Reid forced himself not to flinch away from the touch. He didn’t want to give Steve the wrong idea… or was letting him touch him giving the wrong idea? Feelings were too damn confusing. “Thanks,” he said, so he didn’t have to think about it too much. “I appreciate that.”

Steve’s hand lifted, and after a moment the springs on his bed creaked. “Well, good night, Dr. Reid.”

“Good night.”


	5. Chapter 5

Emily was up at an hour that was painful to her head the next morning, but she ate a hasty breakfast and downed enough coffee to keep her upright and alert. Because they were all staying in the same hotel, they agreed that they didn’t all need to go back to the FBI building. She wanted to waste no time interviewing Anna Richardson and her family, the ones who had actually been there when Sylvia Scranton was kidnapped. Myka wanted to get out, too; she had a feeling that Tasha Scott’s family wasn’t telling her everything, so they agreed that Steve would go with her to be a lie detector.

Emily still seemed to be avoiding Reid’s gaze. She wasn’t doing it on purpose, and yet any time she happened to look at him he was looking somewhere else—and she was sure she’d felt his eyes on her when she was looking elsewhere. She knew she wasn’t working as hard as she could have to find time to talk to him, and it made her feel guilty. And yet, if she did try to talk to him, would it succeed? She shoved away the uncomfortable thoughts and the sick feeling. She still had to do her job.

She let Pete drive, though, turning thoughts over in her head and chewing uncomfortably on her nails.

When they reached the Richardsons’ house, she put on her best friendly face and knocked on the door. It was answered by a middle-aged man, and she gave the same introduction she’d given to the other families the day before. The man’s eyes widened, and he nodded, opening the door wider for them. “Please, come in. This is about Sylvia, isn’t it? Do you have any leads?” He had a soft, kind voice.

“A few,” Emily said, nodding as she answered. “Is your whole family here, sir?”

“Ah, our son is away at college, but Anna and my wife are both here. We were just having breakfast.”

“I hope we didn’t interrupt,” said Pete.

“No, it’s all right, I was just finished. Wait a moment and I’ll get them.” He gestured down a hall that led from the door, then walked the same way, the sound of his footsteps quickly disappearing into the noise from a fan in the kitchen.

Emily glanced around while they waited, profiling the house. Similar socio-economic status to that of the Scrantons, but the Richardsons didn’t seem as concerned with appearances. That was good. The more honesty they could get, the better.

Soon the family emerged from the kitchen. Mrs. Richardson had blonde-dyed bobbed hair, but Anna’s blonde was natural, floating about her face like an angel’s. Emily smiled at her. “Hi, you must be Anna.”

Mrs. Richardson whispered something in Anna’s ear, and she walked forward and slowly held her hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

Emily shook her hand, laughing inwardly at the sweet, solemn little girl. “My name is Emily Prentiss. Nice to meet you, too.” She straightened and let Pete shake her hand and introduce himself. He even managed a tiny smile from the little girl. “Now,” said Emily, “we have to ask you a few questions about your friend Sylvia. Is that all right with you?”

Anna nodded, and Mrs. Richardson guided them all into a small sitting room. Emily sat in a wooden rocking chair, the parents sat on a love seat that faced the television, and Anna ran over to a rocking horse, leaving an armchair for Pete. They were all quiet for a minute, formulating their thoughts.

“I understand that you three were at the park with Sylvia when she was taken,” Emily finally said. “Can you tell us about what happened then? Any information you can give us will be helpful.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything to tell,” said Mrs. Richardson. She was biting her lower lip hard. “One minute we were looking at Sylvia, and then she and Anna separated, and when we looked back Sylvia was gone.”

Emily looked at Mr. Richardson, who nodded and gave a small, helpful shrug. “Do you remember why they separated?” Emily asked. “Did something distract them?”

“I’m not sure,” said Mrs. Richardson. “Something about a swing? Anna, do you remember?”

Anna was rocking very hard on her rocking horse and staring at the back of its head. “We were going to go on the swings. There was just one that was free. Somebody else just left. But Sylvia didn’t come with me.”

“So you ran over to grab the free swing before you noticed that Sylvia wasn’t right there with you?” Pete asked gently.

Anna nodded, sending her hair flying around. “Thought she was coming with me.”

“Was there anything you can remember that would have distracted Sylvia? Maybe there was a cool bug, or someone else she wanted to play with?”

Anna paused in her rocking and lifted her head enough to glare at Pete. “Bugs are _gross_.” Emily had to hide her laughter again—she’d had no idea Pete was so good with kids. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe her shoe was untied?” Emily suggested.

“Maybe,” Anna said. She didn’t sound convinced.

Emily turned her attention back to the parents. “Do you remember anyone at all who might have been giving Sylvia, or both the girls, extra attention at the park? It might have been that day, or it could have been earlier times. I know you went to the park a lot.”

“No… no, I can’t think of anyone like that. I’m sure I would have noticed.” Mrs. Richardson shook her head. “I always keep a close eye on them.”

“What about that ice cream man? He talks to them a lot,” said Mr. Richardson.

Mrs. Richardson sighed. “It’s his job, Jeff. He wants to get the kids to want ice cream so the parents will buy it for them.”

Ordinarily Emily would have pressed for more information about the ice cream man, but she knew he couldn’t be their unsub. For one, that would be an easy ruse, and he wouldn’t be stealing children from parks and supermarkets. For another, an ice cream truck would be a perfect vehicle for both kidnappings and body dumps, and he wouldn’t be using the buses. “What about transportation? Do you ever take the bus?”

“Yes, we took the bus to the park that day,” said Mrs. Richardson, surprised. She’d even stopped biting her lip so hard.

“Was there anyone on that bus or any other who seemed to pay attention to the girls?”

“Everyone did,” said Mr. Richardson. “We couldn’t sit together so they were shouting at each other over several seats.”

“There was that one man with the backpack,” said Mrs. Richardson. “He was sitting right in front of me and Sylvia, so she kept leaning over his head. He… oh, I don’t know how to describe it, but he smiled at her a lot. He got off after us, though.”

Emily met Pete’s eyes, alarmed, and reached for her notebook. This could very well be their unsub. “I’d like you to describe as much about that man as you can remember. Was he white?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Richardson, “with brown hair, thin in the back. I really only saw him from the back…”

“But you noticed his backpack?”

“He had it on the seat next to him, with his arm over it, like he was protecting it. I didn’t think anything of that. It was black, and fairly new, I think.”

“Do you remember the brand, or what he was wearing?”

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Emily nodded, writing down everything. “That’s all right. I’d like to do what we call a cognitive interview with Anna, to see if she can remember any more details of the day at the park. Is that all right with you?”

“It won’t hurt her, will it?” asked Mr. Richardson.

“No, not at all. It’s just talking. But she may remember something frightening, so you should be here for her.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Richardson.

Emily turned toward Anna, still rocking on her horse, and adjusted her chair so she was facing her better. “Is that all right with you, Anna? I’m just going to ask you some questions to help you remember.”

“Okay,” Anna said very quietly.

“You should rock together,” Pete suggested. Emily shot him a look, but he seemed serious, so she tried to match her chair’s rocking to Anna’s horse. Anna did slow down a little, so Emily began the interview, asking Anna to remember the smell of the grass and how warm the sun felt on her skin.

At first Anna just gave one-word answers, but eventually she said, “There was a nice man in the bushes.”

“What was nice about him?”

Anna rocked in silence for a few moments, and Emily was afraid she’d lost her, but then she spoke. “I don’t know. He just seemed nice.”

“Did he talk to you?”

She shook her head. “He just stood by the bushes. He had a backpack on.”

Well, this was definitely sounding like their unsub—the fact that he seemed nice to Anna without saying anything could easily have been the influence of an artifact. “Can you tell me what he looked like?”

She described a white man in a blue polo shirt and jeans who was shorter than her dad. She couldn’t remember any details of his face, but she was young for that. Emily was satisfied that she’d gotten enough information, though, and stood from her chair to give Pete the floor for his artifact-related questions.

He seemed to cut his questioning short, though, perhaps realizing that they already had more information than they had expected, and that the only effect of the artifact, at least on bystanders, was to make them trust its holder. After they left and were walking quickly back to the car, he raised his eyebrows at her. “I got a vibe. You’d better call in to your people.”

She nodded, already getting out her cell phone to call Hotch. It was such a relief to know she could do that now, without a second thought. “What kind of vibe?”

“Not sure. But I think we should be getting back.”

“Fine with me.” She hopped into the car and buckled up quickly, the phone already ringing.

Hotch answered gruffly. “Prentiss? Good. Are you on your way back?”

“Yes, we are, and we have a possible lead.” She mentally compared her description with Guy Crowden, but already knew it wasn’t him. Crowden had been bald—both the parents and Anna had described this “nice man” as having brown hair, even if it was thinning in back. “A description.”

“Great. Myka has a lead on the artifact as well.”

“Oh, that’s great news. We’ll be back in twenty minutes.” She hung up and nodded to Pete. “Apparently Myka has some artifact information.”

“That’s my Mykes. Never stops.” Despite his joking tone, his face looked tight, and he pressed harder on the gas petal.

\--

Even with five of them looking over the data, they hadn’t made any progress at all that morning, so when first Myka and then Emily called into say they’d found something, Reid was relieved. He’d started to fear that with this unsub accelerating his timeline, he would kill Alice Jensen today, but no one had found her body yet. Maybe there was still time.

Hotch gathered everyone around the table and had Myka call in to the Warehouse with her Farnsworth so Garcia and Rossi could be in on it too. Once they were all settled and ready, Myka began to explain.

“We went back to talk to Tasha Scott’s family today. She’s the first victim, so I knew that if there was any artifact connection, it would have to be there. Well, to make a long story short, we learned that her great-great-grandfather was one of the first oil men in this area. Some branches of the family have become estranged, so the connection wasn’t clear, but Tasha’s great-grandfather died recently. We knew that she’d gone missing from his house; what we didn’t know was that at the time they were having an estate sale. Of course there were hundreds of people coming and going, as there were a lot of rare and expensive items for sale, but one of those could have been the sword.”

“You don’t know for sure that there was a sword?” Morgan asked.

Myka shook her head. “They didn’t keep good records, apparently. Tasha’s mother mentioned that there might have been a sword, but she thought it was a theater prop or something like that. They didn’t take pictures of anything because they just wanted to get rid of it all and put the money to better use.”

“So could this man have gotten hold of de Rais’ sword somehow?” Reid asked. “One of his ancestors, maybe?”

“It seems possible,” said Myka. “I have no idea what kind of path the sword took after Gilles de Rais was convicted. Claudia and Garcia, that’s what we were hoping you could find out.”

“Wow, that’s going to be some really old stuff,” said Garcia, her voice slightly distorted by the Farnsworth. “At home I might have to say I could never do it, but you have some weird connections here at the Warehouse.”

“What’s the name of the great-grandfather?” called Claudia from further in the background.

“Henry Lyons,” said Myka. “And the great-great-grandfather, the one who originally came to Texas, is Robert Lyons. You can probably trace the genealogy further back than that to find out when they arrived on this continent.”

“Of course we can,” said Garcia. “Is that all?”

“No,” said Prentiss. “We have a description.”

“Give it to me,” said Garcia eagerly.

Emily opened a notebook and read from it. “White man, middle-aged, brown hair with a bald patch in the back. He’s probably less than five-ten, though that part of the description was from a child, so we probably can’t be too certain. But he was definitely carrying a black backpack, and cradling it, like he was protecting it. That’s got to be where he’s keeping the sword.”

“Right, I can narrow down the list of men who don’t own cars and who work from home by that description,” said Garcia.

“And I’ll get that description to the bus drivers,” said JJ. “The central command center is able to send out text alerts to the drivers even while they’re working, and they’re all on alert for this guy.” She walked swiftly out of the room, dialing her phone even as she went.

“We’ll call you back if we find any confirmation,” said Garcia. They hung up.

“Did Tasha Scott’s family give you any descriptions?” Reid asked Myka.

She shook her head. “They said there were a lot of people at the estate sale, and nobody really stood out. This guy certainly wouldn’t have, if he was there. Sounds pretty nondescript.”

Emily nodded. “We’re lucky this family happened to notice him—and we wouldn’t have even gotten this much description if Sylvia Scranton hadn’t been with a friend when she was kidnapped.”

“The question, then, is why didn’t he take both girls?” Reid mused. “He doesn’t seem to have a specific type.”

“He probably couldn’t sneak away with two girls at once,” Morgan pointed out. “And if they chose to fight, it would be a lot easier to overpower them. This unsub might not be planning ahead who he’s going to take, but he’s smart enough to know who are the best choices.”

“He probably observed them enough to see that they were both with the other girl’s parents, and not with Sylvia’s family,” said Hotch. “That’s probably what tipped the scales between them.”

Emily let out an explosive sigh. “Can we please not tell the Scrantons that? They’re already blaming themselves.”

“Of course,” said Hotch.

“Now, what can we do while we wait for Claudia and your Garcia to get back to us with the information?” Pete asked, leaning back and folding his arms. “I don’t like sitting around doing nothing.”

Morgan shook his head. “Canvass at bus stops, maybe?” He looked up as JJ walked back into the room, her hair swinging behind her. “Unless we’ve got something from the drivers.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “But the description is being passed on, and I’ll hear if anyone recognizes it.”

“Canvassing at bus stops isn’t a bad idea,” said Hotch. “We can start at the one nearest to the supermarket where Alice Jensen was kidnapped and spread out from there. Why don’t a few of us head out there and a few stay here at the central post?”

“I’m definitely in on the canvassing,” said Pete.

“Me, too,” said Morgan.

Emily took a deep breath and visibly squared her shoulders. “I’ll stay here,” she said. “Reid, could I talk to you?”

He gritted his teeth, but nodded, though he was still unable to meet her eyes. “Sure, sure. Just a minute.” He organized his papers nervously, but he couldn’t put it off for too long. When he stood, he glanced involuntarily over at Steve, who gave him a confident grin. That gave Reid the strength to smile back slightly.

He followed Emily out of the room and into a small side office. It was cluttered with books and papers, and rather dusty, but at least it had space for them to move around a bit. She leaned back on the edge of the desk, supporting herself with the heels of her hands, and let out another sigh. “Reid, I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “I know. You had to do it to hide from Doyle.” He honestly hadn’t meant that to sound like as much an accusation as it was, but he didn’t know how to take it back now.

She looked around like she couldn’t find a place to focus on. Outside the door, the other agents walked past, on their way to do that canvassing. Everyone except Hotch and JJ were leaving.

“It wasn’t… planned.” She swallowed. “At first I thought I was really going to die—and according to the doctors, I did.”

He couldn’t help but look at her at that. “Bodily death?”

She nodded. “In the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Obviously, they revived me, but I think that’s where… we got the idea.”

She was obviously trying hard not to put the blame on JJ and Hotch, even though they had almost an equal share with her, and that raised her in his estimation. Not to mention the fact that she had died and been revived. He remembered all too clearly what that had been like for him. There had been a long, long stretch of time when he didn’t think he would survive what Tobias Hankel’s alter egos were doing to him. His only hope had been sending Hotch secret messages and hoping he could decipher them. Maybe she’d been clinging to thin strands like that, too.

Still, he couldn’t bury his anger or the betrayal he’d felt. “Why couldn’t you have stayed with us? Worked on the case to find Declan? The FBI could have protected you.”

“The FBI couldn’t have protected all of us. It took months to find Declan, and you had all the same information I did. Don’t you understand that I did what I did to protect the team? All of you!” Her face was tight, and the muscles of her jaw worked. She was emotional. But how much could he really believe her?

“You could have protected us by staying close.”

She shook her head. “Doyle… he was a sociopath. We’ve seen unsubs like him again and again. He didn’t want to hurt me by going after me directly, at least not while he believed his son was dead. Before I left, he’d threatened all of you specifically. He knew where you all were that day.” Her voice shook with emotion. “He didn’t really want you. He just wanted to torture me. The only way he could stop trying to torture me was if he thought I was dead.”

Reid tried to speak and realized there was a lump in his throat. He swallowed, forcing it down. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

She gave him an odd half-smile. “Don’t be sorry. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m the one who’s sorry, and I just want you to say you’ll forgive me.”

“I will. I do forgive you.” He didn’t know if he did until he said it, but now he knew it was true. It hadn’t been so hard, after all.

She held her hand out to him. He crossed the space between them to clasp it, then, in a moment of inspiration, pulled closer and hugged her close. He trusted her, didn’t he? More than almost anyone else. She laughed, though he thought there were tears in it, and hugged him tightly back.

\--

Emily walked back to the conference room feeling much lighter. Now that she’d reconciled with Reid, her whole head could be in the case. And if she’d doubted him when he told her he forgave her, she knew it was true since he’d hugged her. He didn’t do physical contact lightly.

JJ and Hotch were the only ones still in the room when they arrived, and she gave them both big smiles as she sat down. JJ smiled back. “So,” said Emily, “did we miss anything?”

“Garcia called back,” said Hotch. “She was only able to narrow down the list to thirty-two men—some of them have descriptions, but most have none, since they don’t have driver’s licenses or passports.”

“Still, that’s narrower than it was.” She took out her tablet and nodded with satisfaction. There were the files Garcia had sent.

“The files are being printed as well,” Hotch said with a nod to Reid and a gesture to a printer in the corner, chugging out paper. “Unfortunately, they’re all quite thin. These are men who prefer to stay off the grid.”

“But it’s better than nothing.” Reid nodded and got up to take the papers out of the printer. The room fell silent except for the shuffling of paper and the tapping on glass as they all looked over the files.

Eventually, Emily found one that sounded promising. “Guys, look at Joseph Bakker. He’s got a mortgage on a single-family detached home, and if I recognize that address correctly…” She moved to a different app to check the address. “Yes, I did. It’s right next door to an elementary school.”

“I saw that one.” Reid shuffled through papers as JJ and Hotch flicked through files on their tablets. “Yeah, he’s a definite possibility. And none of the victims attended that elementary school.”

“Shouldn’t that make him less likely?” JJ asked.

“It just reinforces how smart he is,” said Hotch. “He knows that if he took a victim from the school next door, it would be easier to tie to him. But I’m sure he loves watching those kids.”

Emily sighed. “It’s too bad this is one of the ones with no descriptions.”

“That’s probably another precaution,” said Hotch. “But we should call Garcia.”

There was a Farnsworth on the table in front of him. He used one finger to push it toward Emily. She smiled and picked it up. She wasn’t used to these either, but at least she was more comfortable with them than everyone else was.

It had barely rung before Claudia had picked up the other end. “Emily! Are you psychic or what?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Emily said with a smile, trying not to laugh at her. “Why, have you got something for us?”

“We sure do. And we couldn’t have done it without your Rossi.”

This time she did laugh. “Rossi helped? That’s great. What is it?”

Garcia pushed her way into the frame. “We can’t completely confirm that Robert Lyons could have brought the sword to Texas—but he definitely could have owned it. One of his ancestors worked with Gilles de Rais. We didn’t even have to search for the ancestor. Rossi recognized the name.” She sounded proud.

“Great work,” Emily said sincerely. “Now I’ve got more for you.”

“Lay it on us,” said Claudia.

“Joseph Bakker. He’s in the list you gave us. There’s not much on him, but what we do have makes him look good for it. What else can you tell us about this fellow?”

The picture moved; both girls were changing positions, Garcia moving to her computer and Claudia holding up the Farnsworth so Emily could see her. Garcia’s fingers were tapping away, but after a few minutes she shook her head. “There’s really not much on him. He’s another freelance computer geek—his specialty is building shopping carts for ecommerce websites, which is pretty lucrative. But as far as I can tell he’s never had a driver’s license, or a passport, or… well, anything. He moved to Texas about a year ago and you know what, I can’t even tell from where.”

“That’s not a good sign,” said Reid. “Sounds like he’s hiding his past.”

“Garcia, is that shopping cart thing a rare specialty?” asked JJ.

“Not really,” said Garcia.

“What are you thinking, JJ?” asked Hotch.

JJ wiggled a pen between her fingers. “Garcia, can you cross-reference shopping cart specialists with convicted sex offenders?”

“Of course I can,” said Garcia, her fingers whirling into motion again.

“Oh, good thinking,” said Claudia.

“All right, I’ve got six of them, and… one matches your description. His name is Martin Hixon, he’s from Pennsylvania, and he is wanted for molestation. Two kids. One of them told her parents, it looks like, but he must have gotten wind of it because he skedaddled before the police got to his house. Left everything behind, according to this report. And they haven’t been able to find him.”

“Because he changed his name and kept under the radar,” said Emily. “And that explains the murders, though not necessarily the murder weapon. If one of his victims told her parents, he kills the rest to keep them from doing the same.”

“Okay, I didn’t need to know that,” said both Garcia and Claudia at the same time, then laughed.

Hotch and JJ were already standing up and strapping on their weapons. “Prentiss, Reid, you get in touch with the others while I drive. JJ, run the name Joseph Bakker past your bus drivers. We’ve got the bastard’s address and we’re running out of time. Let’s get there before he kills Alice Jensen.”


	6. Chapter 6

Everything from there was a rush and a blur. Emily called Myka on the Farnsworth while Reid called Morgan’s cell. By the time they’d finished talking, Garcia had forwarded Joseph Bakker’s address and Martin Hixon’s driver’s license photo to everyone’s devices.

The four of them got there ten minutes ahead of everyone else, which made for a tense few minutes’ wait. They’d agreed they wouldn’t try to take him down until Pete and Myka arrived with their neutralizer bags. But after five minutes of sitting in the SUV at the end of the block so Bakker—Hixon, whoever he was—wouldn’t see them, Hotch ordered them out of the car, to surround the house so he couldn’t get out. Emily knew that if he realized they were onto him, he might try to commit suicide, knowing what happened to pedophiles in jail. They had to be silent.

And they were, each of them with a gun out and crouched outside of one of the walls of the house. Emily couldn’t see any movement through the windows, though the curtains were open. When she glanced questions at Hotch and JJ, they frowned and shook their heads at her, so they must not have seen anything either. The quiet gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. The bright morning light, and the occasional jabber of kids that drifted over from the elementary school (thankfully they were all inside), were jarringly incongruous with the tenseness of the scene.

Emily let out a silent sigh when she finally saw the others arrive. JJ, in the front, exchanged a few quiet words with the others, then took off at a run towards the school. Morgan met Emily’s eyes and gestured her closer. She nodded and ran silently toward the building as he made a similar gesture to Reid. Morgan counted to three and kicked the door in.

While the others were getting inside, she ran up to the house and checked the windows more closely. Nothing on the first floor, at least not in these windows. She ran to the front door, where she was met by Reid. “See anything?” she asked him breathlessly.

“Nothing,” he answered, letting her enter first. The rest of the team had spread out, shouting for Joseph Bakker. Emily didn’t see or hear any sign of him, or of the little girl. She prayed that he hadn’t already killed her, but if he was on his way to dump her body, that would explain his absence.

“Back here!” Hotch shouted from the back of the house. She ran to join him, Steve ahead of her and Reid hot on her heels. Hotch slammed a door open with his shoulder and pointed his gun downward. “Joseph Bakker?” he shouted.

Emily caught up to him to see steps going down to a basement. She let Hotch and Steve lead the way, but didn’t stay too far behind. “Martin Hixon!” she shouted. Let the bastard know he was caught. There were no basement windows. If he was here, there was no way out.

“Bakker, stop!” Hotch shouted. There was a child’s scream. Emily’s heart thudded in her chest.

She reached the bottom of the steps. There wasn’t much down here—a washer and dryer in the corner, a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, a concrete floor. And a man with the same face as Martin Hixon, holding a sword to Alice Jensen’s throat.

“Let her go, Bakker,” said Hotch, advancing on him, gun pointing straight at him. Unfortunately, Bakker was using the little girl as a shield.

“You don’t want to do this,” Emily said, circling around to Hotch’s left. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve and Reid going right. Steve’s gun was holstered; he had a neutralizer bag in one hand and the spray in the other. But he definitely couldn’t spray the sword without hitting Alice.

“I have to!” Bakker shouted desperately. Alice started crying.

“Let go of the sword, Bakker,” Steve said.

“We don’t want to shoot you,” said Reid, inching closer and nodding encouragingly.

“All you have to do is let go,” said Steve. Emily risked a quick glance at him. He was still thinking of this as a simple case of artifact control, wasn’t he? But she knew that this man was a pedophile, and that meant that she had no idea how much of this was due to the artifact and how much was him.

“I can’t! It’s my only friend!” cried Bakker. But the hand holding the sword was wavering. Emily winced, hoping it didn’t nick Alice. But if they could get him to let it go…

“I don’t think it is your friend, Martin,” she said, keeping her voice as low and soothing as she dared. Of course, she was still pointing a gun at him. And behind her, she could hear and feel the rest of the team on the stairs, and whispers that sounded like Morgan; they would be surrounding the house.

“It wants you to do things that you don’t like, doesn’t it, Martin?” Emily continued. She kept taking tiny steps forward, as did Hotch and Reid, since he didn’t seem to be making any threats beyond holding the sword.

“It helps me,” he said.

“But I know you didn’t want to kill those other children,” said Hotch, picking up on Emily’s trail. “You hated seeing that, didn’t you?”

“No!” But he had lowered the sword. “It was the only thing I could do.”

Reid had gotten around to the wall that Bakker had his back to, and now he was holstering his weapon. She hoped he knew what he was doing.

“Martin, if you put down the sword, you won’t have to hurt anyone,” said Emily. “Not ever again. You can find some new friends.”

He swallowed visibly. “No… no, I need the sword!”

“We won’t take it away from you,” said Hotch. “We just want to make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone else. No more little girls need to die.”

Bakker—Hixon, whoever he was—shook his head. But then he dropped the sword.

In the same instant, Reid darted forward and snatched Alice Jensen away, pressing her face into his chest. Steve shouted, “Shield your eyes!”

Emily flung up her arm to do so, and was rewarded, because she heard the spray of the neutralizer, and then even through her arm and her close lids there was a bright flare of light followed by hundreds of sparks. On her left, she heard Hotch curse, and Hixon yelped.

She lowered her arm as soon as the sparks died down. The sword was still flickering, but it seemed safe enough to holster her weapon, run up, and start handcuffing Hixon, who was still dazzled.

She’d barely gotten the cuffs on him before he started sobbing. “Alice? It didn’t hurt her, did it?”

“She’s going to be just fine,” Emily said, with a glance at the little girl, who was also crying, and clinging to Reid. She pushed Hixon toward the stairs, then handed him off to Morgan and got out her cell phone. “JJ? Yeah, it’s good.” She allowed herself to sigh and lean against the wall for a moment. “We got him. Alice Jensen is okay. I hope. We might want to get you here to pry her off of Reid, though.”

Reid gave her a weak smile as he patted Alice’s shoulder gently. Poor guy probably hadn’t counted on her clinging to him so hard. Myka came down the steps and went past Emily to help Steve with the sword. They managed to get it wrapped in several layers of artifact bags. “Nobody touches this except with gloves,” Myka declared. “This is getting wrapped up tight once we get it back to the Warehouse.”

“The Dark Vault, I’m thinking,” said Steve.

“Maybe the Escher Vault, even,” Myka countered.

“Can we bronze an artifact?” suggested the holographic Helena.

\--

Reid was quite happy to be part of the crowd standing on the other side of the glass while Hotch interrogated Hixon—took his confession, really. The man seemed to be in shock from the loss of the symbiotic artifact he’d found. He had barely stopped crying since they’d arrested him, and was now spilling every last detail of the nine children he’d raped and the five he’d murdered. This was the first child killer, though, that he hoped got some protection in prison; he’d meant to molest them, but it really didn’t sound like he’d meant to kill them.

Reid wasn’t sure whether he believed in artifacts now or not. But he knew psychology, he knew body language, and his knowledge was telling him that this man had never intended to be a killer.

He felt someone come up beside him, then a hand come to rest on his shoulder. He looked over and was unsurprised to see Steve. “So,” said Steve, “we did it.”

Reid nodded and allowed himself a smile. “Did you doubt it?”

“For a while there, yeah.” Steve sighed. “And I know you weren’t completely confident the whole time.”

Reid turned back to the glass through which he viewed their unsub. “I knew we’d catch him. I didn’t know whether we would be able to save Alice Jensen, or whether there would actually be an artifact involved. But I’m glad it turned out the way it did. It’s as close to a happy ending as we could expect.”

Alice Jensen’s parents had been so happy to learn that their daughter was all right that they had arrived before the ambulance (which he appreciated, since she hadn’t let go of him until she’d heard her father’s voice), then ridden with her to the hospital. Reid had no idea whether Hixon had already raped her when they’d found him. He hoped not; that girl was going to have a hard enough time dealing with life after kidnapping as it was.

“I guess that’s true,” said Steve. “So what now?”

Something twisted in Reid’s stomach at that question, and he wasn’t sure why. “Well, Hixon will be prosecuted in Texas, and possibly in Pennsylvania as well, though if I were the Pennsylvania prosecutors I would let those charges go and just hope for the death penalty that Texas is so well known for. And you Warehouse agents are going to lock up that sword so no one will ever be able to use it again.” He turned back to Steve. “Why don’t you just destroy it?”

Steve shrugged. “Rules. And it might not be possible to destroy. I mean, that thing was in pretty good shape considering how old it is, right?”

Reid nodded. “That may be true.”

“But I knew both of those things,” Steve continued. “I guess I meant, what happens with us. The two teams.” He gestured around the room. “Emily goes back to you guys, right?”

“That seems to be the plan.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Oh, good.” Steve grinned. “You’re telling the truth.”

Reid had to smile back. “I know I am. And as for the rest of us… well, I guess we can keep in touch, if we want to. I never know what part of the country I’m going to be in on any given day.”

“Me, neither. But I wouldn’t mind keeping in touch.”

There were definitely butterflies in Reid’s stomach. “I wouldn’t mind either.”

“Good.” Steve leaned close, and, before Reid had time to consciously process what was happening (or maybe he was ignoring it on purpose, because his mind worked faster than most), kissed him. Once his mind had caught up, Reid kissed him back.

Until Morgan wolf-whistled at them, and they broke apart, laughing nervously.

\--

Artie was grumping about them having other work to do, just because this case is solved doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty of others and she should be searching the news which is her job, but Claudia ignored him. She had her arm through Penelope’s and was walking with her and Rossi out of the office, then through the artery. “Thanks for coming down to work with us,” she said. “We would not have been able to do it without you two.”

“We wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, either,” said Penelope, smiling. “And your equipment. So thanks for convincing your boss to let us come down and use it.”

Claudia laughed, unlocking the outer doors. “I would not have been able to convince him if I’d tried. It was all Mrs. Frederic. His boss. You don’t argue with Mrs. Frederic.”

“Well, then, thank her for us,” said Rossi.

“And thank her for letting us have Emily back,” said Penelope.

“I will,” said Claudia. They were all standing outside in the chilly South Dakota air now, looking at the rental car that Rossi and Penelope had brought. Claudia sighed. She did not want to say goodbye. She turned to Penelope. “You’ve got my email, Twitter, blog, Skype, everything?”

“And you’ve got mine,” Penelope said with a nod. “I’ll call you on Skype sometime soon. You can meet Kevin.”

“That would be cool,” Claudia said. Then she gave up on holding back and flung her arms around Penelope.

Penelope laughed and hugged her back. “I thought that was never coming.”

“I’m going to miss you,” Claudia said.

“I’ll miss you, too. But we can get together again sometime.”

“Yeah! Next time Jinks and I have a case out your way, I’ll look you up.”

“That sounds great.” Penelope gave her a final squeeze and let her go. “But we both have more work to do.”

Claudia nodded, taking a half-step away. “It never ends.”

“Well, that’s the peril of being a superhero,” Penelope said with a wink. Then she turned to Rossi. “All right, let’s get you out of here.”

He nodded and shook Claudia’s hand. “Pleasure working with you.”

Then they got in the car and drove off. Claudia watched them until she couldn’t see the car anymore—which wasn’t very long, due to the hills between the Warehouse and the road. Then she turned back inside, shoving her hands in her pockets against the chill. There was a lot of work to do, but at least she loved her job.

\--

And now Emily was back to where she’d been three days ago when Mrs. Frederic had told her Doyle was dead: torn. She didn’t want to leave her friends at the Warehouse.

Yet she was so, so happy to be going back to the BAU.

So in the end she didn’t cry—well, okay, maybe a little bit—as she hugged Myka and Steve, shook Pete’s hand, and smiled a goodbye to H. G. “Make sure to say goodbye to Claudia and Artie for me,” she told them.

“We will,” said Myka. “Don’t worry. They understand.”

Emily nodded. “I’ll miss them. I’ll miss all of you.”

“But we’re going to stay in touch, right?” said Pete. “You can’t really say goodbye to these guns.” He flexed his biceps.

Emily couldn’t help laughing. “Of course. Call me, when you’re somewhere you can get a cell signal. Maybe we’ll be in the same town for a case again.”

“I hope we don’t end up having to work together again,” said Steve. “No offense.”

She nodded. “Of course, because that would mean a serial killer or a rapist or something got hold of an artifact. I hope that doesn’t happen, too.”

“What’s going to happen to Hixon?” asked Myka.

Emily sighed. “Well, there will be a trial. That’s going to be tricky because of the artifact, but since we have a confession, I think we can keep it brief and quiet. And sentencing isn’t exactly going to keep us on the edge of our seats. He’s probably never going to see fresh air again.”

“I’m not sure whether I’m happy or sympathetic,” said H. G. “Well, certainly sympathetic. But happy, too. Is that wrong?”

Emily shook her head. “Whether or not he really meant to kill those children, he meant to molest them, and that means I’m very happy he’s never going to get that opportunity again.”

Myka suddenly stepped forward and hugged her again. “Take care of yourself, Emily.”

“I will. You, too.” She hugged her back. “All of you. If you ever do need a behavioral consult, I’m available.”

The rest of the BAU approached, JJ reaching out to touch Emily’s arm. “We’ve got to go. Garcia and Rossi are waiting at the jet.” She turned to the Warehouse agents. “It was nice meeting all of you.”

The rest of the team said their goodbyes. Steve and Reid stepped away from the rest of them to talk quietly. Emily, JJ, and Myka shared a grin at that. Emily would have been skeptical, but… well, Reid looked a lot happier than he usually was. Steve always looked happy, but it was probably hard for him to date, what with the whole lie-detector ability, so Reid was probably a good match for him. She’d expected them to get along, just not this well.

Finally, they were all walking to where the BAU jet waited to take them home. Emily linked arms with JJ and smiled happily at her friend. It was good to be finally going home.


End file.
